


Slouching Toward Bethlehem

by Cassiopeia_Kass



Category: Andromeda (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, Episode Related, Guilt, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutiny, Nightmares, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Repair, fighting the Entity and the Magog, investigating the Entity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-10-09
Updated: 2001-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 06:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 71,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23966923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassiopeia_Kass/pseuds/Cassiopeia_Kass
Summary: Things fall apart. And come together. (An alternate resolution to the first season finale's cliffhanger.)
Relationships: Seamus Harper/Dylan Hunt
Kudos: 6





	Slouching Toward Bethlehem

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the first season, especially "Its Hour Come ‘Round at Last."
> 
> Since Wolfe et al evidently had too long a liquid lunch before writing the season premiere, I thought I’d post this trip into an alternate universe where things turn out just a wee bit differently. Originally written to cheer my Viridian after the trauma of the finale--and what a finale--I think it has some virtues over the official version.
> 
> (This is [Viridian5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridian5) posting for Cassiopeia, a friend of mine who's long gone out of fandom but left me as a kind of caretaker of her _Andromeda_ fics. They've been linked at my personal site for a very long time but I wanted to share them with the fandom more.)

Dylan came awake with a gasp, lay very still until his sense of time and place had kicked in and he knew where and when he was.

The Maru. They were safe. His crew was _safe_. He was still a bit unsure as to precisely how that had happened, but then he’d been down for the count during the climactic events.

He was on board the Maru, lying on a bed, large areas of his body covered in dermaseal. To be precise, he was in Harper’s quarters on the Maru, and Harper lay on the other side of the bed, also fairly well covered in dermaseal and huddled around a pillow. 

Down the corridor, so far as he knew, Rev lay in a similar position, the only difference that Rev was apparently catatonic or in whatever state mimicked catatonia for Magog. Beka would tell him only that Rev had been instrumental in recovering Tyr and Harper from the other Magog, and he was far too tired still to try and puzzle out precisely how one Wayist Magog had countered literally hundreds of thousands of his own kind intent on feeding and breeding. If Beka knew, she wasn’t talking, and he was reluctant to press too hard.

Beka had borne the brunt of things, Beka and Trance and Rommie. A damaged Rommie, and he didn’t just mean the ship. As insane as it was to feel guilt over something he’d been unable to control, he did, and he doubted he would ever lose that guilt. They were all, in one way or another, walking wounded. Tyr had been badly clawed, Harper had been badly clawed, and finding an antidote to Magog paralytic venom had taken a great deal of creative action on Trance’s part. At least he’d missed that part, although he supposed being in a coma probably balanced matters. Beka was haggard and even Trance looked careworn.

His ship....

The Andromeda had been badly damaged in critical areas. If they’d all been whole and healthy, it would have been the hard work of a few days to accomplish enough repairs to get them to a Drift where things could proceed at a more leisurely pace. As it was, the task seemed insurmountable. Or nearly so. 

At least Beka’s experience in salvage meant that Andromeda hung in space beside them. 

Harper made a sound in sleep, an unhappy sound. Dylan sighed inwardly. Beka had irritably insisted that it was better that the two most seriously injured of Trance’s patients be quartered together, and hence poor Harper was stuck with him, at least for the present time. At least they’d passed the stage of being completely bedridden, but Trance persisted in turning the light out when she left what had once been Harper’s quarters, and the darkness seemed to trigger some of Harper’s worst nightmares.

Reaching up, he felt along the headboard for the slide that controlled the light, edged it up just a hair; too much, and it was likely to shock Harper awake, too little, and it did no good at all, but it seemed he’d done well, Harper’s clenched grip on the pillow seemed to loosen and there were no more sounds.

They all had nightmares these days. Hard not to. He didn’t want to try and imagine Rev’s; listening to Harper’s broken and half-audible mutterings had told him more than he wanted to know about Harper’s and Tyr’s. Beka’s seemed to center around losing her ship and crew, and Trance was, as usual, enigmatic.

Harper made another small sound, sat bolt upright and stared at him. 

When his heart was back in his chest where it belonged, Dylan leaned up. "Harper?"

Harper blinked, took a long, shaky breath. "Yeah, I’m good. I’m good."

That seemed over-optimistic to him. "Yeah?"

Harper rubbed his face with both hands. "Yeah, I’m good, time to get to work."

Moderately alarmed, Dylan pushed himself up further, wincing as healing muscles warned him about moving too quickly. "Get to work on what?"

"Rommie." Harper swung his legs over the edge of the bed and Dylan had to shift quickly to catch him. 

Painful speed, and then he sat beside Harper on the edge of the bed. "Not yet, Harper."

"She needs me." Harper wouldn’t look at him. "We can’t just leave her over there."

"I know. We won’t." 

Harper shook his head. "It’s my fault anyway, I need to get to work."

Harper’s fault. He sighed. It wasn’t Harper’s fault, reactivating the backup had merely set events in motion, most of which were completely out of their control. "It’s not your fault, Harper."

"You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about it." Harper rubbed his face again. "I activated the backup. I didn’t mean to, I was in there fucking around and I didn’t know what the hell I was doing and it’s all my fault."

"It’s not your fault, Harper." He tried to put some force into it, but he was still too tired, too weak. He put an arm around Harper’s shoulders, ignoring the flinch. "Harper, it wasn’t. If you want to blame someone, blame High Guard command, they sealed off the records, even from Rommie. She couldn’t tell you what it was, and you’re our engineer." His voice sounded unconvincing, even to him, he could only hope that the words got through. He didn’t blame Harper. He blamed himself.

He was the captain. He should have... he didn’t know what he should have done, but what he had done hadn’t been enough. Too slow, too confident, too something, and everyone had paid the price for it. He tightened his arm around Harper. "It wasn’t your fault," he repeated. "Harper, don’t you believe I’d tell you if I believed differently? Have I ever hesitated to chew you out for a mistake?"

Harper shivered. "And then I blocked the automatic defenses."

"Which, at the time, was necessary, unless you wanted to end up running the ship yourself." He wanted to reassure Harper, he wanted Harper to lie back down and let him lie back down, and he wanted to go back to sleep himself. At the moment, he wasn’t sure which held more power over him, but he suspected the latter. "Come on, Harper, it’s late, and you’re in no condition to work in a suit right now. You’ve got to let yourself heal."

Harper leaned into him. "If I hadn’t messed with the backup--"

"Harper, dammit, it wasn’t your fault, you aren’t to blame." Exhaustion fed his temper, he wanted to call the words back. "Lie down, you aren’t going anywhere." 

Harper tried to pull away from him. "I have to."

"You can’t." He gave up, wearily slid back against the headboard. "For one thing, this cabin is locked from the outside." Dryly. "Beka doesn’t trust either of us."

Harper didn’t look at him, but after a long, long moment, he drew his legs up, simply folded himself over on the edge of the bed, hugging his knees. "Oh."

Looking at Harper made his throat ache. "Come on, Harper." He slid down, put the pillow under his neck and tugged the bedclothes over both of them. "It’s not that bad." Right. With a little more conviction in his voice, he could probably convince himself, too.

Harper didn’t say anything, which was probably just as well, considering the idiocy of the words. After a while, Dylan’s eyes closed, but he kept listening until Harper’s breathing had slowed and steadied again. Kept listening until sleep claimed both of them.

  


* * *

"Absolutely no fucking way, Dylan." Beka definitely looked haggard. He wondered if her own dreams were as bad as his. "There’s no way I’m letting him get into an environmental suit and work out there alone on that ship until I know his head’s on straight." 

"I’m not saying he should work alone. Absolutely I agree with that." Dylan shifted to try and ease the pressure against the healing wounds on his back. "I’m saying--"

Tyr gave him a look and leaned forward. "It could help," he told Beka firmly. "And he would _not_ be working alone."

"And you think either one of you is in condition to stop him from doing anything fatally stupid?" Her voice sharpened.

Dylan sighed. "Beka, we have to seal the hull so we can repressurize the command deck. Harper _needs_ to be doing something constructive besides brood, and so, frankly, do I."

"And it’s only practical," Tyr added softly. "Unless you plan to abandon Andromeda."

Beka’s mouth quirked and suddenly Dylan realized that she’d been considering it. "Over my dead body," he said tightly.

"That can be arranged," she snapped and sat down, put her head in her hands.

Dylan pushed himself to his feet. "Beka, I’m not asking your permission, I’m telling you what’s going to happen. You can’t keep locking him in his own cabin. Not if you want him to recover."

"He faced his demons once. He can do it again." Tyr’s voice was very soft. 

"He nearly died doing it! You both did!" Beka glared at them both. "None of you is in good enough condition to work in environmental suits."

"We’ll start on the sections that are still pressurized then." Dylan held her gaze. "Work there until we’re steady enough."

Harper chose that moment to wander through. He stopped suddenly and looked at the three of them. "What’s going on?"

"We were just discussing the best approach to repairs on the Andromeda," Tyr said evenly.

Harper’s haunted gaze moved to each of them in turn. "Oh, I guess it wasn’t necessary to include the actual engineer in this discussion."

Dylan glanced that way, sighed. "We hadn’t gotten that far yet, Harper."

"We need to start with the engine room and life support." Harper eyed Beka. "There’s still pressure in those sections. Command deck ain’t as crucial, but we need to get the hull sealed shut again."

Beka’s mouth thinned. "Agreed."

Harper jerked his head in a nod. "So when do we start?"

Dylan looked at him. "Today, I thought. We can use the drones to do the heavy work, since we’re still in less than optimal shape."

"Good. About time." Harper looked at Beka. "So, you gonna take us in, or do we get to space walk over?"

Beka shot Dylan a furious look. "I’ll take the Maru into the bay. I’m going to go with you. We need all the hands we can get. Trance will stay here, we need someone on the Maru, and Rev’s not going to be any help."

At the mention of Rev’s name, Harper twitched slightly. "Probably not. What are we waiting for, let’s get going."

"I’m on it," Beka muttered and gave Dylan another dangerous look. She swept past him toward the Maru’s bridge, and he leaned against the seat he’d vacated.

Tyr’s expression was dispassionate. "It will be slow work at first."

"Maybe." Harper brightened suddenly, the first sign of life Dylan had seen since--since before the entire disaster. "Maybe not."

"Mr. Harper," he said dryly, "don’t let this lead you into overextending."

Harper looked at him blankly. "I need to work."

"We all do," Tyr said.

And that, it seemed, was all that needed to be said.

Dylan was saying more to himself some hours later. He ached in every part of his body, even the parts that hadn’t been torn open by Magog claws, and Harper showed no signs of slowing up. The only thing that eased Dylan was that Tyr actually looked nearly as tired as he felt.

And that it was Tyr who finally put a hand on Harper’s shoulder. "Time to stop," he told Harper firmly.

Harper bobbed up, looked at Tyr. "But we have a lot to do." Oddly small voice.

"We will do more tomorrow. We’re tired, and weariness leads to mistakes." Still firmly, but with some undercurrent that Dylan hadn’t seen before. Something akin to kindness in Tyr’s voice, and something akin to trust in Harper’s.

Finally, Harper nodded, shoulders slumping. "Yeah, yeah, you’re right." Vague look around. "It’s just... there’s so much to do."

Dylan’s throat ached. Something in their shared ordeal, he supposed, had forged a bond between the two, something he hadn’t ever expected to happen. That was a good thing, surely, so why did it make him feel wistful?

He was tired, that was all, tired and in pain, and he thought longingly of Commonwealth medical practices, long since lost except perhaps on a few isolated worlds. Too bad, he would have to simply suffer through, but he was grateful when they returned to the Maru to find that Beka had raided the med-deck for additional medical supplies.

And food supplies, as well. If he hadn’t been nearly too tired to eat, he might have appreciated the latter more, but the pain relievers were very welcome.

Harper almost dozed over his meal and Beka gave Dylan a savage look. "Worked him hard today, did you?"

"He worked hard," Tyr said, his tone amused.

Harper jerked awake again, regarded Beka owlishly. "What?"

"Nothing." She poured herself more coffee, lips pressed tightly together.

Harper frowned and Dylan nudged him gently. "Eat."

Harper obligingly took another bite. "We’re in better shape than I thought." Manfully trying to report to Beka, Dylan thought, and that made his throat ache, too. "At least as far as power and life support go. Won’t do any good until we get the hull repaired. I mean, we can seal off the isolated, nonessential sections, but the rest of it has to be repaired and sealed."

"Yeah." Beka looked at Harper. "Seamus, eat, you can tell me later."

Harper frowned. Nodded. "Yeah, okay."

Tyr glanced at Dylan meaningfully. He sighed inwardly. Yes, he was definitely going to have to have a long talk with Beka, but at the moment, he had little evidence to reassure her. Harper was definitely not behaving normally, even factoring in Harper’s usual odd behavior. Hell, none of them were. 

Except perhaps for Trance, who sat down next to Harper and serenely sipped at a cup of her favorite tea. "You got a good start, Harper." 

Harper nodded and dug back into his meal. As ordered.

All of which made Dylan’s throat ache again.

  


* * *

Harper knew he was a little crazy. Of course he was a little crazy. He’d come to consciousness in a den of Magog, paralyzed, waiting to be filled with Magog spawn. He still couldn’t remember how they’d gotten out. He thought he remembered Rev, but it wasn’t a Rev he’d ever known or seen. It wasn’t a Rev that comforted or reassured.

He thought he remembered Beka and Trance, too, but that might have come later. He did remember Tyr. Remembered Tyr fighting back to back with him. Thought he vaguely remembered Tyr hauling him up a ramp at some point, which didn’t seem likely, considering they’d both been paralyzed. Maybe that was from earlier.

Dylan came into the cabin, his hair still damp from the shower. He stopped and eyed Harper. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I’m good." Harper belatedly realized that he was sitting on the edge of the bed stark naked. Had been sitting there since he’d come back from the shower and told Dylan it was free. That was a little scary, but then he was a little crazy, maybe it was normal. Normal for being crazy. He put on his underwear, pulled on a shirt and got under the bedclothes, pretended he was fine.

Dylan moved like an old man. Dylan looked like hell. He wondered if he looked as bad as Dylan did, but the face in the mirror looked pretty normal. Some healing places on his face, still, both from claws and from venom, but mostly okay.

There was a yellowing bruise spreading out into Dylan’s hairline, Dylan’s back was covered in dermaseal, and it extended down his hip. There was another major patch on his shoulder, and one on his thigh. 

For just a minute, his eyes burned and his throat hurt. He closed them, rolled over on his side so when Dylan got into bed he was facing away. 

"Harper?" The mattress shifted as Dylan got into bed. "Harper, are you okay? You need anything for pain?"

Dylan’s voice was so tired it made his throat hurt worse. "I’m good. Just tired." He finally looked over his shoulder, "Really. You can turn the light down."

Dylan nodded, slid down against the pillow. "All right if I leave it low?"

He nearly laughed, rolled over again. "That’s fine."

Dylan reached, the light dimmed, and Dylan sighed.

He swallowed hard. He might be a little crazy, but he wasn’t stupid. Dylan had put himself out the night before. Had insisted it wasn’t his fault. And even if it was fairly weird to be sleeping in the same bed as your captain, he knew that. Knew Dylan was honest, wasn’t going to try to feed him a line. "You okay?" Faintly.

Dylan shifted. "Mostly." Humorous tone. "I feel every one of my 303 plus years."

He nodded. "I feel ‘em, too." Trying for his usual tone. His _normal_ tone.

Dylan laughed softly. "I’ll bet. Good day’s work, though." 

He flushed, was glad of the dimness. "Yeah. I guess I pushed a little hard."

Dylan’s hand brushed his, startling him. "Harper, you’re still healing, too. That’s all, I’m not trying to badger you."

He blinked hard. "Yeah. I get it." Swallowed hard again. "‘Night, Dylan."

"Good night, Harper." Dylan’s voice was blurry. "Get a good night’s sleep."

He doubted that was possible. For either of them. "You, too."

He could always think optimistically.

  


* * *

"You’re going to have to do something about her." Tyr’s expression was somber.

"Leave it be," Dylan said tiredly. "She’s doing her best."

"She’s going to drive all of us mad," Tyr said evenly.

Dylan couldn’t help it, he snorted. "We’re already there, Tyr. Battle fatigue. I’m not going to tilt the balance at this point, I don’t have the stamina, and she needs to work through it herself. She’s managing."

Tyr gazed at him. "Do you realize just how much of a temptation the drug is going to be for her now?"

Footsteps and Dylan looked up to see Harper coming back with a laser saw. "Yes." Wearily. "Trance is aware of it, too." 

Tyr nodded, glanced at Harper and lifted his end of the strut they were carrying. "I hope that’s enough."

So did Dylan. They were making far better progress than he would have anticipated, which was good. He itched to be out of this sector of space. A cluster of asteroids wasn’t exactly the best hiding place, even if Beka had done heroic work in getting them here, and he doubted any of them would feel safe until they were on the other side of the galaxy. 

Actually, he doubted they’d feel safe for a long time, other side of the galaxy or not.

He hated Magog.

Harper turned to him as they approached. "We need to start working on the hull." Bluntly. 

He knew that. And the very idea gave him the heebie jeebies. Harper and vacuum didn’t seem like a good combination at this point, even though Harper seemed to be doing better. No improvement in the nightmares, but Harper at least was focused, not brooding. Well, mostly. Finding Harper lost in thought the other night had shaken him; he rather thought it had shaken Harper a bit, too.

"I agree." Tyr put down his end of the strut.

Great. Since when was this a democracy? "All right," he said mildly. "Let’s see the plan."

Harper blinked at him, grinned suddenly. "Um, okay, guess I better come up with something."

"Besides ‘we need to start working on the hull,’" Dylan agreed. 

Tyr frowned at him, but Harper went for his comp, started surveying the structural damage and muttering to himself.

It gave him some breathing space, at least, and he ignored Tyr.

It wasn’t going to be so easy to ignore Beka.

"Fine," she said tightly, when apprised of this step. "I’m going out with him."

"We can’t both go out with him," Dylan said patiently. "I need you in one piece."

She gave him a long level look. "What makes you think you’re in good enough shape to go out there, Dylan?"

"You need to stay here, one command officer out there is enough." He felt the brief lunatic urge to bang his head on the bulkhead.

Tyr and Harper, over near the comp, had fallen silent.

"I know what I’m doing and I’m in better shape than you are." Beka wasn’t giving way.

He felt the brief lunatic urge to bang _Beka’s_ head on the bulkhead. The hell of it was that she was right. Mostly. "Yes, you _are_ in better shape. Which is precisely why I want you in here. If anything goes wrong, you need to be able to get us the hell out of here and leave Andromeda behind." Anything, of course, being the arrival of more Magog, and he could see that knowledge in her eyes, saw her struggle with it. "Someone needs to be able to pilot the Maru, and I, as you point out, am not in any shape to do it."

Slipstream required concentration, focus, and he was a little short on the energy required for it.

After a moment, she nodded reluctantly. Clearly angry. "Fine. Dammit, Dylan, this is crazy, we can’t do this, we’ve got to get you all somewhere where we can get help."

"I won’t leave the ship behind unless it becomes necessary." Maybe it was insane. Maybe _he_ was insane. He wondered about that more often now. "Until then, we’re going to do what we can."

Beka’s expression suggested that she was considering banging _his_ head against the bulkhead. "Fine. I want you all linked through Rommie."

"I agree," Rommie said, still a disembodied voice. Harper, bless him, had given the ship first priority; the avatar would have to wait.

"Agreed," Dylan said and sat down on an upended cabinet. "That’s good sense."

She nodded tightly, turned toward Tyr. "And you’re going out, too."

"Granted." Tyr didn’t look amused, he looked annoyed.

Dylan couldn’t blame him, but he couldn’t blame Beka either. He supposed it was a sign of his exhaustion that he could see an explosion coming and couldn’t think of how to deflect, delay or avert it. "Mr. Harper, let’s see your plan."

Harper’s expression was relieved. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who could see the explosion coming.

  


* * *

Dylan’s face was drawn with weariness and pain. As badly as Harper wanted to get outside and start working, Dylan wasn’t in any condition today to suit up. Working in suits was tiring enough, and he had a feeling that if he suggested he go out alone, Dylan would weird out on him. Still--he sat next to Dylan on a cracked work surface while they ate sandwiches and some less than exciting instant soup. They hadn’t been stocking the Maru the way they once had; he crunched a noodle that hadn’t soaked and drank some of the broth from the cup. "You know, Tyr and I could get started," he finally risked.

Dylan’s gaze was unpromising. "Possibly." Flat voice. "But that won’t be necessary, we’ll all three go out. Things will go faster."

Harper looked to Tyr for help, found none there. Sighed. "Um. Okay." 

After a moment, Dylan’s mouth quirked. "Try not to worry, I know my limitations, Harper. If I get wobbly, I’ll tell you. I’m no worse off than the rest of us."

Obscurely relieved, Harper nodded. "Good. Okay." But he was still worried. Beka was worried, too, that much was clear; her temper was shorter even than it had been, and he didn’t know what to do to reassure her. He felt better now that he was getting something constructive done; he’d had to put off repairs on Rommie’s avatar body, but it was good to know that Rommie herself was still there, still alive and well and much saner than she had been. His integration of her backup with her current self had worked, and despite the Magog, there were still a fair number of her drones in working shape. Which helped a lot, since Dylan was right, none of them was quite up to doing a lot of heavy lifting.

Working outside was going to be a little harder. There were some tasks you couldn’t entrust to a drone, and the kind of work he had planned fell into that category. Beka seemed most worried about him going out there, he was worried about Dylan going out there, and Tyr just seemed to be disgusted with everyone.

Well, mostly. 

He insisted on umbilicals once they’d suited up, which fact seemed to reassure Beka a lot. The near permanent line between her eyebrows eased up to near invisibility and she watched them enter the airlock without twitching.

That alone helped ease his mind. 

They worked steadily, no false moves, no wasted motion, and in spite of the fact that he hated working outside, there was a kind of pleasure in the way the three of them seemed to mesh. Dylan actually wielded the welder very skillfully, something he wouldn’t have quite expected. They moved slowly over the curve of the hull, forming and welding the patches; the High Guard suits made movement easier, even with the umbilicals tethering them.

"Harper, I think you guys should come in." Beka’s voice was tinny and distant. "You’ve got about thirty minutes of air left, and all three of you are looking tired."

Oh, yeah. The telemetry, he’d forgotten about that. Still, they were so close to having this one sealed. "Just a little bit longer. We’ve got plenty of time." Turning his head, he looked over to see Dylan’s welder flare to life again. "You guys doin’ all right? Can we finish?"

Tyr looked his way, but it was hard to see through the faceplate. "I think so."

Dylan didn’t answer.

"Dylan?"

"Fine." 

He frowned. "Dylan?"

"Let’s finish."

He felt a trace of uneasiness, but dammit, they were so close. "Hang tight, Beka, we’re nearly done."

"I don’t like you pushing yourselves," Beka objected, but then said nothing more.

Which was good, he didn’t want to use up oxygen arguing with her. Shift, press the patch into place, weld. Repeat. He glanced up to see that he’d been right, they were going to finish in plenty of time. Dylan slapped down the last patch, held it while Tyr welded and then they were done, and for an instant, he felt a flare of something like triumph.

"We did it!"

"We still have to do the other side," Tyr muttered into his mike. "Don’t get overconfident."

"I’m not." He knew better. They still had to work from the inside to patch the inner hull, and then fix the bulkhead, but somehow, it was starting to seem more doable. "Let’s get back inside." He reached for the handhold, unhooked the umbilical and started toward the airlock.

Something made him stop and look back. He wasn’t sure why. Dylan and Tyr were both moving toward him, just as they should be, but he held back, waited until they were all three together before he shifted down another level toward the hatch.

His nerves were suddenly twitchy. He unhooked the umbilical, grabbed the handhold and pressed the control on the hatch. It slid open and shifted to let Tyr in. Twitchier. Dylan fumbled with his umbilical, unhooked and reached for the handhold....

And missed.

Heart thumping, Harper snatched at the line as Dylan floated past him. "Tyr!"

Quick movement in his peripheral vision and Tyr grabbed the line. "Get inside," Tyr snarled. "I’m hooked in, I’ve got him."

He didn’t go inside, but he did rehook his own line, turned to help Tyr haul on Dylan’s. Slow and steady. Mass and impetus, he told himself, and Beka was yammering in his ear, he couldn’t answer, couldn’t listen.

Then Dylan grabbed the handhold with both hands, pulled himself into the airlock, and they were all three inside, the hatch sliding closed. A little frantic, Harper punched the button to cycle the goddamn thing, and finally let himself hear Beka shouting at him. "Beka, we’re all right."

"What the _hell_ happened?"

He was shaking. "Nothing. It’s okay. We’re all okay."

Dylan hadn’t said anything, and Tyr seemed to be holding him up. It made Harper’s stomach knot, he waited impatiently for the hiss of air to stop, hit the button to open the inside hatch.

Beka met them there. Tyr let go of Dylan and Dylan stepped out on his own, popped the seals on his helmet and took it off.

Harper did the same, turned to let some of his fright out in temper and stopped dead. Dylan was chalk-pale, his hair was slicked against his skull with sweat.

Beka opened her mouth, closed it, got her shoulder under Dylan’s arm and guided him to a bench. Harper followed, put his helmet on the shelf and took Dylan’s. Beka started popping the seals on the suit, swearing under her breath. 

Dylan tried to smile. "Sorry. Stupid greenhorn trick."

Harper didn’t know what that meant. He helped Beka with the seals, helped Dylan pull his arms free. The undersuit was sodden with sweat, but at least the dermaseal hadn’t broken, there wasn’t any blood. Dylan’s hands were shaking badly.

"Dylan, are you hurt?" Beka sounded a little desperate.

Harper glanced at her, headed for the medical cabinet in the corner, grabbed one of the electrolyte tubes and came back, popped the top and held it to Dylan’s lips. Dylan drank, grimaced, drank the rest. "Thanks." Hoarsely. He tried to pat Beka’s hand. "I’m okay, just a stupid greenhorn trick, I looked down, lost my orientation."

"You look terrible." That line appeared between Beka’s eyebrows again. "You go out again, you go out for less time and better rested."

Dylan’s smile was wan. "Granted."

Harper peeled himself out of his suit. Tyr’s expression was grim, he’d already gotten out of both suits, was putting his usual clothing back on. "You could have cost all of us," he told Dylan.

"The hell," Harper said, suddenly angry. "You were hooked in and it only took me a heartbeat. So get off it."

"No." Dylan sounded exhausted. "He’s right. I should have gone in earlier. I’m tired, and tired men make stupid mistakes."

Tyr scowled. "So. We cut the time outside, and we start freshly rested."

"Right." Harper nodded. "Right."

Beka didn’t look happy with any of them. "Can you walk?" she asked Dylan sharply. "Or do you need help?"

He shook his head. "Just give me a minute."

Harper eyed him, went back for another tube. This time, Dylan took it from him, popped the lid himself and drank. Grimaced again. "Terrible taste."

"Good for what ails ya," Harper muttered and hung his discarded suit up. Brought Dylan’s clothes over to the bench and Beka gave him a narrow look. "Hey, we got it sealed, Beka. One more big one to go, and then we can start closing down the nonessential sections, get to work on the inner hull."

Tightlipped nod. "I’ll be on the Maru," she said and rose. "Tyr, you’re with me."

Tyr eyed her, nodded without protest.

Watching them walk off, Harper sat down next to Dylan. "You okay?"

"I will be." Rueful look. "Sorry."

Harper shrugged. "Happens. That’s why we don’t go out alone, right?"

Dylan laughed a little. "Right." But the laughter was half-hearted. "We got a lot done."

"Hell, yes. We’re making headway." He offered it like a gift. Whatever Dylan said to absolve him, it still felt a lot like he’d tripped a boobytrap and sent them all into hell.

"More than I expected." Brief, warm smile.

It shook him a little. "Come on, get out of that thing. I’m starving."

Dylan sighed. "And I stink. Let’s just hope it isn’t instant soup again."

"Nah, Trance grabbed a bunch of stuff, hauled it into the Maru. Couple more seals, and we can start eating over here again."

Dylan wiped his forehead with his wet sleeve, grimaced. "You’re right, I have to get out of this thing."

Harper grinned. "Yeah. You need a hand?"

Dylan pushed himself up, stood shakily. "I think I can manage. But thanks." Another brief, warm smile.

It shook him again. "Okay. I’ll hang around, just to make sure."

Dylan laughed shakily, started peeling out of the innersuit. "And to think I was more worried about you."

Rocked, Harper looked at him. "About going out?"

"Yeah." Dylan reached for his clothes, stepped out of the suit. 

Harper stared at him, nonplussed. "But I’m in better shape than you are."

Dylan laughed shortly. "By a hair, maybe. Damn genetic engineering, Tyr’s healing faster than we are."

"Yeah, well, we’re better looking than he is." It was a dumb thing to say, but it made Dylan laugh again, so he didn’t mind. 

And Dylan seemed less unhappy, so it was worth it.

  


* * *

Dylan found Beka on the bridge of the Maru. "Beka," he said, trying to sound conciliatory. "I’m sorry you were worried. It was a damn fool thing, and you’re right. We don’t start until we’re rested, and we cut the time in half."

She didn’t look at him. "I didn’t save your ass to have you kill yourself in vacuum." Tightly.

He rubbed his forehead. "I know." Sighed. "I was more worried about Harper. Harper was fine."

That got her to turn toward him. "Yeah." Grudging agreement. "Me, too." Then, more sharply. "I thought _you_ had better sense."

It made his temper flare in return. "I pushed it. I admit it. It didn’t hit me until we were finished, and I still thought I was fine. I looked down, lost my horizon, missed the handhold. It won’t happen again."

She looked away. There was something about her expression that made his chest hurt. He took a step toward her, put his hands gently on her shoulders. "Look, I know--I was useless, you carried it alone, Beka, and you did a hero’s job, dammit, you...." Words failed him, his throat was too tight. He squeezed her shoulders. She still wouldn’t look at him directly, but he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. "But I can carry this much. You don’t have to do it all."

Her jaw clenched. Not temper, he thought, but a struggle for self-control. Her eyes closed briefly, and she nodded. "Right. Okay. You’re right." 

He wondered if it would cause an irretrievable breakdown of morale if he hugged her. Gods knew she deserved it. He settled for putting an arm around her shoulders. "You saved us, Beka."

She looked down at her feet. "No. I only helped." Arid tone, exhausted as he felt. "Rev--Rev got to Harper and Tyr." Her mouth trembled suddenly. "And I can’t help him. He’s gone inside himself, Trance can’t get him to eat, she’s got him hooked up to life support we scavenged from med-deck."

He tightened his arm. "I know. I know, Beka."

"I think Trance is the only one of us who’s really all right. And some of that’s for me, I think." She shuddered. "I thought you were going to die. I thought Harper was going to die." Shaky laugh. "Now Tyr--I think it would take a nova bomb to kill Tyr."

"Probably." He said it dryly, and she laughed through her nose, made a sound like a sob. "We didn’t die, Beka." Hugged her one-armed. "You kept things together."

"You’d lost so much blood." She shuddered again. "You ever do that again, I swear, Dylan, I’ll kill you myself."

"I’ll keep that in mind." And suddenly, they were both laughing, albeit still shakily. 

She wiped her eyes with her fingers, elbowed him gently. "Go eat something and lie down before you fall down, Dylan."

"Yes, ma’am." He released her. "You get some rest, too."

She tried to stare him down, but started to laugh again. "Fair enough. You _are_ still the captain."

He snorted. "Don’t do it for me, do it for--for Harper. We’re all worrying about each other."

Her expression softened. "Yeah. We are. But you’re right." Sudden grin. "I will if you will."

"Deal." 

  


* * *

Harper found Dylan asleep on the bed when he came back from his shower. Stretched out in his underwear, hair curling a bit as it dried, arm over his eyes, Dylan was a far cry from the usual High Command captain, Mr. Idealism and Perfection. 

It unnerved him to see Dylan this way. Not asleep, it wasn’t that. It was the exhaustion and pain and the fact that this Dylan was entirely human and vulnerable and approachable. It was the fact that he wished there was something he could do to make things better. He dropped the towel and found clean skivvies and pulled them on, added a shirt again. He was cold all the time lately, and the dermaseal was making him itch. Badly. He sat down on his side of the bed, took the shirt off again and tried vainly to scratch between his shoulder blades.

"Stop that." Dylan’s voice was drowsy.

He took a deep breath to get his heart back in rhythm. "Thought you were asleep. And it itches." He looked over his shoulder to see Dylan squint at him. 

"Come here."

He blinked, scooted back on the bed. 

Dylan leaned up on one elbow. "Where does it itch?"

He tried to point, but Dylan got it. Damned if Dylan didn’t actually scratch his back. He let his head fall forward, sighed happily as Dylan scratched. Not just the one spot, but his whole damn back. "So, where do I send my immortal soul?" he asked, when Dylan stopped.

Dylan laughed rustily. "Keep it, I have enough trouble with my own." He flopped back down on the pillow. "Besides, when mine starts itching, you can help me out."

"I didn’t know you High Guard types ever itched."

Dylan gave him a warning look. "Don’t start."

"Sorry." He was. "Just kidding."

"I know. But I’m short on humour and long on bad temper these days." Apologetic tone.

"I hadn’t noticed." Which was true. Dylan hadn’t snapped at him once. Not really. He shifted to face Dylan, sitting cross-legged. "I hate to point this out, but you’re lying on top of the covers."

Dylan blinked. "I suppose that means you want me to move."

"That would be nice," he agreed.

Dylan sighed, got up, tugged the blankets down and got into bed. "I suppose that since neither of us is in imminent danger of dying, we could refit one of the empty cabins and I could leave you in peace."

"There really aren’t any empty cabins," Harper said. "Tyr’s claimed one, and Trance has Rev’s set up as a sort of med-deck." He could say Rev’s name, he just couldn’t think about Rev. "Beka’s got hers. Then there’s mine. The other cabins are full of equipment, stuff Trance and Beka scavenged off the ship when they got everybody off."

"Oh." Dylan sighed. "Sorry, you’re stuck with me."

"At least you don’t snore. Much."

Dylan groaned. "Thank you for that."

Harper snickered. "Just kidding."

"Ah." Dylan’s mouth twitched. "I’m afraid you do."

He blinked. "Snore?"

Dylan nodded.

"I do not." Nobody had ever told him. "Do I?"

Dylan laughed. "Not that I’ve noticed."

Charmed, Harper leaned up on one elbow. "Really?" It was very unlike Dylan to joke with him. At least like this. Dylan ragged on him in a friendly way now and then, but this... this was weird. And he liked it.

"Really." Dylan chuckled again, reached up for the light control. "Ready?"

"Yeah." The light dimmed. Harper lay down again, marveling. It was a terrible thing to think, but neardeath had an interesting effect on Dylan. Evidently. But that thought depressed him again. He remembered waking once to hear Trance telling Dylan he did not have her permission to die. At the time, he’d thought it was all part of the nightmare that surrounded him; now, he wondered. He might have dreamt it. It might have been real. "Dylan?"

"Hmmm?" Drowsy again.

"Don’t ever unhook your umbilical until you take hold. You got that?"

Brief silence, and then a snort. "Yes, Mr. Harper, I do."

"Good. You practically gave me a heart attack. I’m too young to have a heart attack." He reached out, stopped before touching. "I mean it."

After a moment, Dylan’s hand rested on his own. "Understood." Quietly.

Dylan’s touch was comforting. Dylan’s understanding was even more comforting. "Good night," he said softly and risked curving his fingers briefly over Dylan’s. 

"Good night, Harper." Brief squeeze and Dylan moved his hand. "Sleep well."

Maybe he would. But he wished Dylan hadn’t moved his hand.

  


* * *

The second patch to the outer hull went more smoothly, no unfortunate incidents. Dylan was nonetheless relieved that the worst repairs were done, even if they would have to work in suits until the inner hull had been securely sealed. Nobody could float off into space from the command deck. 

He still couldn’t understand how Beka and Trance had gotten him off the command deck, off the Andromeda. Or Beka had gotten the two of them off the command deck. Or whatever. He still hadn’t gotten a clear idea of what had happened and how, and given everyone’s level of trauma, maybe it was enough for now simply to have survived.

Maybe it was. He worked shoulder to shoulder with Harper on the command deck, found it comfortable. Surprisingly comfortable. Well, perhaps not surprising, after all; it had been Harper, evidently, who had plotted his birthday party, which said something for Harper’s opinion of him. There had been times he hadn’t been sure that Harper would ever really see him as completely trustworthy.

And now, apparently, they were... if it didn’t sound too idiotic, he thought they were friends.

Which was something he had missed.

"Break time," Harper said, his voice thin in Dylan’s ear. "Get out of these suits, get something to eat."

He turned to look at Harper. "I’m okay." Dryly.

"I’m not, I’m starving." 

Well, in that case. He followed Harper off the command deck, hit the control to reseal it. There was oxygen in there, of course, and the suits were a damn nuisance, but considering the structural damage, only an idiot would think it was safe.

He wasn’t that much of an idiot.

Once out of the suit, he accepted a cold drink from Trance, and a sandwich. Real soup this time, that was how far they’d come, and he savored the first taste. "That’s good."

Trance beamed at him. "Tyr got the galley working already."

He nodded, pleased by that news. 

"It’s the small things," Harper said, sitting down next to him. "That make life worth living."

He grinned. "Or at least enjoyable."

"That, too." Harper took a sip from his mug. "Mmmm, Trance, you are the very Epitome of Purple Excellence."

"Thank you, Harper." She grinned at him. "I know."

Harper choked on his soup. Dylan patted his back, careful of the healing areas, tried not to laugh.

"Trance!" Harper coughed, gave Trance a reproachful look. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"After all my hard work? Of course not!" She grinned again. "If you need any more, just buzz me."

"Buzz," Harper said and ducked when she looked at him. "Kidding, kidding, kidding."

Dylan chuckled, watched as Trance bounced off. "She’s gotten a lot done in med-deck already."

"And cooked, besides." Harper closed his eyes and took another sip. "Mmmm, lots better."

"Were you really starving or looking out for an old man?" Dylan arched an eyebrow.

"I was really starving," Harper said and opened his eyes again. " _And_ looking out for an old man."

Dylan looked at him long and hard. "How old are you anyway?"

"Old enough." Harper took a bite of his sandwich.

"For what?"

"Anything anyone has in mind." Harper blushed suddenly. "I’m not exactly sure, but I can give you a rough estimate."

He cursed himself. "Never mind. I was prying."

Harper shrugged. "S’okay. Things were just a little... well, messed up is putting it mildly."

He nodded. "I _am_ an old man." Feeling it. A little depressed.

Harper eyed him. "Nah, you’re barely 300."

He snorted. "Harper."

Unrepentant grin. He surrendered to it, grinned back. 

It was the little things, as Harper had said.

  


* * *

End of a working day and Harper was sitting on his bed replacing the chips in a circuit board. Beka wasn’t wound up as tight, Tyr was, well, Tyr, although he didn’t call Harper "boy" lately. As weird a concept as it was, Harper rather thought surviving what they’d survived had been a bonding experience. Worse than weird, it was hilarious, him bonding with the likes of Tyr or vice versa, but hey, reality was reality.

Bonding with Dylan was weird, too, but in a different way. Dylan worried him. Or rather Dylan’s approachability worried him. He kept waiting for the walls to go back up, for the Dylan who stood straight and was always in uniform and always called him Mr. Harper in that dry tone. So far, there was no sign of that guy, and it was getting scary how comfortable that felt.

He was _sleeping_ with the guy. And it was comforting. Maybe that went back to being a kid huddled up in some rathole with a bunch of other orphans or wanderers, hiding from either the Magog or the Nietzscheans, finding comfort in numbers. Hell if he knew.

What he did know was that it was going to be kind of lonesome when they got the rest of the seals on the inner hull and could use the crew quarters on the Andromeda again. It was hard to say what Dylan thought about it, but Dylan hadn’t seemed disturbed about the fact that there wasn’t any other room on the Maru. He got the feeling Dylan had suggested moving out because he thought it bothered Harper. Which could be him deluding himself, and that was another thing he wasn’t sure about.

And maybe he was thinking about all this to keep from thinking about what had happened. To keep from thinking about the Magog moving closer and closer to human space, to keep from thinking about that _thing_ they worshipped. Which he didn’t want to think about, so he got up and put the circuit board in a safe place, retrieved one of the game boxes Beka liked to rag him about and powered it up.

When Dylan came in, toweling his hair, Harper was deep in the labyrinth of Y’ra Medellin, picking up treasure and kill points with the ease of a pro.

The game chirruped and Dylan regarded it dubiously. "What _is_ that?"

"Entertainment." Harper killed a C’rak mercenary and put the game on pause. "You oughta try it, you might like it."

"I’d hate to interrupt." Dylan peered at the display. "Although it could go a long way toward explaining your sneaky tactics."

"Sneaky!?" Harper scowled at him.

"That wasn’t a complaint. You’re damned effective." Dylan sighed, sat down on his side of the bed.

Weird. One side of his bed was now Dylan’s. Only slightly mollified, Harper went back to creaming the C’rak and moving toward the fabulous hidden crown treasures of the Medellins. 

"You know, not everything I say to you is meant as a reprimand." Dylan’s voice was somber.

Harper glanced up, a little surprised. "Okay." Uncertainly.

"Beka certainly, ah, kids you a lot and you don’t take it as such." Dylan wasn’t looking at him, and there was something almost wistful in his voice.

"I’ve known Beka for years," Harper said and then wished he hadn’t. He put the game on pause again.

Dylan nodded absently, folded the towel in his lap, stared at it blankly for a moment. "Good point."

Something about the set of Dylan’s shoulders made Harper sad. "I just can’t always tell with you." 

Another nod. Dylan got up, put the towel on top of the cluttered desk, peeled out of his shirt. Funny, the opaque dermaseal was still all in one piece, whereas Harper felt like he was molting. Dylan’s muscles shifted as he moved, and Harper frowned a little; Dylan had always been big, and while it was true that Harper didn’t generally see Dylan without his uniform--without his clothes, that is--Dylan was looking a little lean these days. 

Maybe it _was_ just that he wasn’t used to seeing Dylan in civilian type clothing. Or in his underwear. Or in the skin.

Dylan shucked his pants and turned around to catch Harper staring at him. Blinked. "What?"

"Even your dermaseal is perfect," Harper blurted. "How come you aren’t peeling?"

Dylan blinked again. "I think Trance had to reapply mine. I don’t remember exactly." 

He bet that really bothered Dylan. "That makes sense." 

Dylan shrugged, got into bed. Looked at Harper. " _Even_ my dermaseal?" 

Harper blushed. "You know what I mean."

A long look, and Dylan’s expression was unreadable. "Ah. Well. Harper, if I was perfect--" He sighed. "Never mind." He settled back, put his arm over his eyes.

Harper’s stomach knotted. "Hey, it wasn’t an insult."

"I know." Dylan’s arm stayed put. "It’s fine, Harper."

His stomach stayed knotted. "Not really."

Dylan shifted, rolled to his side to study Harper. After a minute, his mouth quirked. "No offense taken, okay."

He nodded, but he really didn’t feel any better. "When we get Andromeda repaired, I mean really repaired, what are you going to do?"

"Do?" Dylan laughed shortly. "There’s a question."

He wasn’t sure he liked seeing Dylan without his usual certainty. "Yeah."

"I don’t know." Flatly and Dylan shifted back to his back, stared at the ceiling. "Is our fledgling Commonwealth strong enough that I can put together an effective strike force? What would it require for us to be able to take that goddamn thing out? Is genocide ever justified? Is my consideration of that merely a reflection of what happened to us, or am I rationalizing?"

Rocked, Harper stared at him. "Dylan--"

"If genocide _can_ be justified, there are practical considerations. Shielding to keep the swarm ships from effectively striking, weapons to use from a safe distance, enough warm bodies to penetrate, and then, of course, something we can actually use to destroy that thing, and since we don’t have enough data on it to really know how, a suicide mission to gather that data." 

His stomach had gone from feeling knotted to feeling like a stone lodged up behind his breastbone. He could smell them, the stench of them, the smell of blood and venom and Magog, and could hear them, and he was shaking, lost in that horror, in that memory, and then all he could smell was Dylan, clean scent of soap and skin and Dylan’s forehead was against his, they were both sitting up and Dylan was holding on to him, one arm around him, one hand cupping the back of his neck.

"Come on, Harper." Softly. "Come on back, it’s just battle shock, come on back."

He shuddered one more time, held on. Dylan was warm and real, flesh and muscle and bone, soft hair tickling his forehead. The stench and the noise and the Magog were a memory. A bad memory, but a memory, and he tightened his hold on Dylan. Comfort and something else, and he took in a shaky breath. "So I’m not really psycho?"

Dylan made a sound like laughter, but just as shaky. "No more than usual."

And then they were both laughing, still pressed close together, and he became aware that he was practically in Dylan’s lap and Dylan wasn’t wearing anything but skivvies, and he could feel Dylan’s skin under his fingertips. Fuck, this would have to happen, just what he needed, the complication of emotion and desire, but it didn’t stop him.

He really was crazy. He tilted his head a little, kissed Dylan’s mouth and expected to be shoved backward or punched.

Except.

Except Dylan didn’t, Dylan kissed him back.

Oh, hell, now he was in deeper and in danger of drowning and Dylan kissed so sweet, nobody had ever kissed him like this, like they were memorizing him. He slid his hands up into Dylan’s hair, opened his mouth and Dylan’s tongue was in his mouth, and his was in Dylan’s, and god, god, god, it felt incredible, better than incredible, and even though it was hungry, it was still slow and sweet, like Dylan was afraid to push or something, so he pushed, sucked on Dylan’s tongue a little, hooked one leg around Dylan so they were pressed together and he really _was_ sitting in Dylan’s lap.

They were way past kissing and into just plain necking, Dylan’s hand was under his shirt, Dylan’s fingertips seemed to be doing that memorization thing like his mouth, and oh, hey, they were both hard as stone, pressing against each other like they were going to be able to meld. Hottest thing he’d felt in fucking forever, and it made him frantic, he squirmed, tried to slide his right hand down into Dylan’s briefs, and grab a handful of that terrific ass, and jeez, he hadn’t even realized that he’d noticed Dylan’s ass until now.

Dylan pulled back a little. "This _really_ isn’t a good idea." Short of breath.

Fuck. Second thoughts. "Okay, we’ll stop."

"The hell." Dylan kissed him again, hard, tipped him back on the bed. Long body against his, and he pushed up against it, conscious only of relief that Dylan’s second thoughts weren’t strong enough to make him stop.

Dylan’s mouth moved down his throat, licked the skin around his port and he shuddered, gripped Dylan’s shoulders. "Wait, wait."

Dylan drew back again. "What?" Hoarsely.

"I want my shirt off." Oh, yeah, did he ever. He wanted all that bare skin against him, and Dylan grudgingly shifted, gave him enough space he could squirm out of his shirt and then oh, yeah, they were up close and personal again, and he could feel Dylan’s cock against his through two layers of fabric, and what was wrong with his brain? He should have gotten rid of his pants, at least, but Dylan was on that track, Dylan was tugging at his, so he returned the favor. A lot of squirming from both of them, he put his leg between Dylan’s and pushed Dylan’s shorts the rest of the way off, Dylan did the same and then, oh, gods of the lost Empire, they were really skin to skin.

Dylan’s cock pressed against his, the slide and drag drove him crazy and he rocked up into it. More, he wanted more, didn’t want it to stop, and Dylan was devouring him, tasting him, licking him everywhere they weren’t actually touching. He put his fingers back into Dylan’s hair, dragged Dylan’s head back up to kiss him again. Dylan groaned into his mouth, worked both hands under Harper’s ass and pulled him up close.

Drag, press, slide, and he was melting down, totally fucking crazy. "Fuck me," he gasped, "I want you to fuck me." And then blinked, amazed at himself.

Dylan looked--wild. Hungry. Needful. "We--I--do you have anything for lubricant?" 

Whoa. Dylan’s mind had shortcircuited, but there was something impressive about the fact that he kept the priorities in mind. "Yeah." At least he hoped so. With Dylan’s weight off him, he rolled out of bed, rummaged frantically in a drawer and came up with what he wanted. Returned to the bed and Dylan snatched the tube from him, hands a little shaky.

Hot. Fucking incendiary. He took hold of Dylan’s cock, gripped it and stroked upward, got his shoulder bitten and Dylan rolled to the side. He pulled his legs up, felt a slick finger circling him and groaned. God, it had been forever since he’d done this, he’d forgotten that hunger, the way it felt to get ready, to have someone get him ready. One slippery finger inside and he pushed down on it, stroked Dylan again. Dylan’s mouth covered his, Dylan’s tongue moved in the same rhythm as the invading finger, and god, god, he wasn’t going to make it, used his free hand to grip himself hard, pressed the base of his cock to hold back.

Another finger, he panted into Dylan’s mouth, sucked on Dylan’s lower lip. Fuck all this slow preparation, he wanted Dylan now, he stroked Dylan hard and Dylan groaned again, dove in deeper with tongue and fingers and oh, jeez, hit the sweet spot and made him arch up, he even shot a little. And then the fingers were gone and Dylan was above him, pressing in slowly. He hooked both legs around Dylan, pushed back into that, groaning at the burn. His cock softened some, slowing things down, and for once he was grateful for that, pushed until Dylan was in all the way, firm belly, the tickle and soft brush of pubic hair and balls against Harper. "God, yes." He arched up, Dylan thrust, and then they were moving again, found a rhythm that suited them both.

There was only this, no flashback, no terror, no grief, just this. Heat and slide and Dylan’s fingers around his cock, and he rocked and rolled with it, eyes slitted half-open so he could see Dylan’s face go lost and effortful. Oh, yeah, oh, yeah, this was good, this was better than good, Dylan had a clue what he was doing, had his hands full of Harper’s ass, guiding the angle, hitting the spot, and he could hear himself making noise, urging Dylan on in broken sentences.

"Harper," Dylan gasped. Getting close.

Fine by him, so was he. Dylan came first, and that almost pained ecstatic expression pushed him over the edge, he reached down and closed his fingers over Dylan’s, stroked himself off and came with a shout, splashing over his chest and belly and Dylan’s, and then Dylan was kissing him again, long and hot and still hungry.

Dylan was still inside of him, but softening. He felt stretched, a little sore, but it was okay, even if he was going to feel this in the morning. It was a good thing, not a bad thing. At least he thought so. Wrapped an arm around Dylan’s neck and kissed him back.

Dylan licked the inside of Harper’s mouth. Sighed into it. "Harper." Faintly.

"Yeah." He hugged hard, and then let go. Dylan eased out of him, shifted to lie on his side. "God."

"God." Dylan echoed and put a hand on his stomach. "Thank you."

He blinked. "For what?"

Dylan blinked back. "For that." Slow smile. "It was incredible."

He felt his face get hot. "Ditto."

Crooked grin. "You’re welcome."

"So are you." He put his leg over Dylan’s, Dylan’s arm stretched over his stomach, held him close. That was okay, too. "Man, I’m crashing." He yawned. "Wake me up that way."

Dylan’s eyes widened slightly. "God." Heartfelt.

He grinned. "Or not. I need to be able to sit down sometime."

Dylan blushed this time. "Harper, I--"

He put his fingers over Dylan’s mouth. "I wasn’t complaining."

Dylan’s lips pressed against his fingertips. "Okay."

He nudged Dylan. "Sleep. Talk later."

A sigh. "Okay." 

He shifted, got an arm over Dylan, too, and then Dylan actually closed his eyes. 

Harper closed his, too. And there were no nightmares of Magog after all.

  


* * *

It really was a bad idea. But Dylan couldn’t completely regret it despite the sharpness of the voice inside his head telling him that it _was_ a bad idea. He did have to keep a watchful eye on himself, it wouldn’t do to have that stupid grin on his face every time he looked at Harper, the stupid grin he’d awakened with. Harper had pounced on him, before he was even totally awake, and there was something about being awakened that way that made it easier to forget where they were, how they’d gotten here, and what they had to do.

He hadn’t even allowed himself to realize that he’d been attracted to Harper. Hadn’t allowed himself to realize that he had feelings for Harper. Until now, at any rate, and having allowed that realization, there wasn’t any going back. Or so he told himself.

He was intelligent and mature enough to find a balance, he told himself, and that much, at least, was really true. They worked together without him doing any mooning after Harper, he focused on the task at hand, and if he felt his pulse speed a little once in a while, he reckoned he couldn’t be expected to control autonomic responses.

The minute they were alone in Harper’s quarters, all bets were off. He sat down on the bed to take off his boots, and Harper was in his lap, Harper’s mouth was over his and he was drowning, drowning happily, not one single shred of self-preservation instinct operating.

Warm, willing mouth and body, and he let himself fall back on the bed, put fingers in Harper’s hair loosely and drank Harper in.

Harper’s clever fingers worked at his waistband, slid inside to grip his rapidly thickening cock. He gasped into Harper’s mouth. "Single-minded, aren’t you?"

"I don’t believe in self-denial." Harper bit his chin lightly, licked his throat. 

He took hold of Harper’s ass, squeezed it. "One of your more interesting character traits." A little breathlessly. "God." 

"Nope, just me, Seamus Zelazny Harper." Harper kissed him again. 

Dylan arched up, started fumbling with Harper’s pants, got them open and down enough that he had a hand on the curve of one buttock, and the other hand between them, no easy task with Harper being so damn focused. He arched up again, folded his fingers around them both, and Harper jerked in surprise, pressed down hard. 

Surprised tone. "Oh, that’s good."

It was. "Well, I gathered you were in a hurry." Dylan stroked upward, tightening his fingers.

Harper’s eyes went half-closed. "Oh, yeah, that’s really good."

He tugged Harper’s head back down, licked his way into Harper’s mouth and thrust his hips up, rubbing against Harper. God, Harper was right, this was really good, heat and stretched skin and the growing slickness under his thumb when he rubbed over the head of Harper’s cock, over his own. Sensation and emotion, and he really, really had hidden this from himself very well. At the moment, he didn’t care. Harper was a compact, solid weight against him, hot skin, sweet mouth, and he lost himself in it, borrowed some narrow focus from Harper and worked them up the spiral of ecstasy aso Harper cried out into his mouth, until he felt himself fall and his grip loosened. Harper’s fingers closed over his, finishing it, and he wrapped his free arm around Harper, held on tightly as the pleasure ebbed.

"Impatient," he finally said hoarsely. "Not that I’m complaining."

Harper nuzzled him, made a soft sound in his throat. "Good."

He didn’t quite have the energy to laugh. "Good?"

"Excellent in fact." Muffled voice and Harper burrowed into him. He let his eyes close, let his fingers splay over the small of Harper’s back, drifted.

Eventually, of course, Harper moved, sighed, licked along the edge of Dylan’s jaw. "We’re a mess. Better get changed." Regretfully.

Dylan sighed, opened his eyes. "Why?"

"So we can eat."

He considered that, let go of Harper. "The hell with food, I’m fine."

Harper leaned up, studied him. "I’ll bring you something."

He smiled faintly. "If you want." Got kissed soundly again. 

"Yeah, I think I’d better. You need to keep your strength up." Harper nuzzled him again briefly. "I’ll toss you some clothes, anyway. I don’t think you wanna keep those on. They look a little, ah, debauched."

"I don’t think articles of clothing can be debauched." Dylan yawned suddenly, surprising himself. "I think I’ll just take these off."

Harper arched an eyebrow. "That’ll work."

He grinned. "Glad you approve." Harper was looking at him like a Midwinter present Harper hadn’t unwrapped yet. No one had looked at him like that in... well, since the last time he and Sara had actually spent time alone. Not that he remembered, anyway. 

This _really_ was a bad idea, reminded the voice in his head. Stuff that, he told it. Maybe it was time to break a few of his own rules. 

Selectively.

Maybe.

  


* * *

Harper stuck the prepackaged meal into the ‘wave and punched buttons, turned to find Beka eyeing him. "Where’s Dylan?"

"I think he’s taking a nap," Harper told her, hoping his expression didn’t give anything away. "He was pretty wiped, but we got a lot done today."

"I noticed." Beka sighed. "I’m worried about him. He still seems to be fighting a lot of fatigue, but he won’t listen to me."

Harper shifted from one foot to another guiltily. "He’s working hard, Beka. He wants the ship fixed up and he wants us to be away from here."

"So do I." She rubbed her forehead. "But it’s not just the physical stuff. I think he’s--I dunno, feeling this more than he lets on. I think he’s more depressed or something. You work with him all day, Harper, what do you think?"

Boy, now he really felt guilty. "I think you’re working yourself up a little. He’s a little depressed, we’re all a little depressed, Beka. But I think he’s basically okay."

She nodded, sighed. "Okay, fair enough. Just--just keep an eye on him, okay?"

"Me?" He blinked at her. "Sure. Far as I can."

The ‘wave chirruped and he turned. Juggled the meal out and set it down. "Maybe I better stick one in for Dylan, see if I can get him to eat it." Guileless expression, he hoped, and even that made him feel guilty.

She looked at the ‘wave again, grinned. "Yeah, good idea. Thanks, Seamus."

He blinked. He really was a worm. "Hey, de nada."

He brooded on that as he juggled both meals back to his quarters. At least he hadn’t been lying about Dylan taking a nap. Dylan was sprawled, splendidly nude, face down on the bed.

Dylan really did have a sensational ass. He gave himself a moment of prurient appreciation and put the meals down. Woke Dylan by kissing the nape of his neck. Dylan started a bit, sighed. "What?"

"I brought you something to eat," he said softly. "Think you can manage it?"

Dylan rubbed his face on the pillow, leaned up on his elbows. "Yeah, I guess." Blearily. "You weren’t gone long. Or were you?"

"Decided somebody needed to nag you into eating." Harper put his palm on Dylan’s back, stroked warm skin. He was in so much trouble here. It was going to hurt like hell when Dylan pulled back again, and he had little doubt that Dylan would have to. Command structure and High Guard training, and what the hell, he’d started it, he had no one to blame but himself. And he was damned if he was going to turn it down, Dylan was freaking amazing in bed. Keep it light, he told himself and patted Dylan. It felt good, he liked Dylan, Dylan liked him, they could have some fun. "Sit up, I’ll bring it over."

Dylan rolled over, smiled at him again. "Okay."

Keep it light, he repeated silently, and went to get the food. Hoping that he could.

  


* * *

Much of the damage from the swarm ships could be contained by sealing off the relevant sections. It was a cheap solution, but Dylan found he was getting edgy. They’d been here too long. The third time he woke up from a nightmare of the Magog invasion of Andromeda, he decided. "We’re going to leave tomorrow." He looked around the small galley of the Maru. "I don’t want to order anyone to travel on Andromeda, not given the situation. Rommie and I can handle the ship through slipstream, barring any further attacks."

"Excuse me," Beka said, her tone dangerous. "What is this about? Are we or are we not Andromeda’s crew?"

He looked down at his boots. Sighed. "Beka, we’ve worked hard, but there’s no guarantee--"

"Dylan, you’re in no condition to pilot." She glared at him. "And unless you’ve fired us, we’re still crewmembers."

"This isn’t a democracy," he said, but it was half-hearted. 

Beka folded her arms. "Too bad. Get over it." Scowling.

Well. Okay. He rubbed his cheek, nodded. "All right. Then I suggest we get things ready for the trip."

Tyr eyed him, frowning. "You don’t have confidence in the repairs?"

He didn’t dare look at Harper. "Insofar as I have confidence in anything at this point, I do." Bluntly. They all stared at him. He tried again. "I’m feeling superstitious these days."

They continued to stare at him.

"Okay," Beka finally said and cleared her throat. "So we get a good night’s rest." She gave Harper a long look.

He wondered what that was about. Harper’s expression was blank, as if he were thinking of something else. It didn’t bear worrying about. He hoped. "Let’s plan on starting at 0:600, people. Beka, I’d like you to take a look at the navigational plan, please. Make sure I haven’t overlooked anything."

That got another one of those peculiar looks from Beka, but she nodded. "Will do."

"And on that note, I’m going to get some of that rest." He managed to grin before ducking back out of the galley.

The awful truth was, he was afraid. Afraid of his judgement, afraid of fate, afraid of the Magog, and it wasn’t like him at all, dammit. He’d been wounded in battle before. No one sane wasn’t afraid of getting hurt, but it had never hampered him before, not like this. He’d seen crewmembers die, too, sent members of his crew into danger, and while he had struggled with it as any commander did, he’d never felt so nearly paralyzed.

"Hey." Harper’s voice came from behind him.

He turned, arched an eyebrow. "What?"

Harper frowned. "What the hell was that about?"

He grimaced. "Nerves."

Long look and then Harper was up next to him, pushing him against the bulkhead. Taken by surprise, he leaned into the kiss, then pulled away. "Harper." Trying not to laugh, trying not to panic. "Not. Here."

"Okay." Equably. "Lead on."

He felt a quiver along his nerves, straightened and continued toward Harper’s quarters. In deep and getting deeper, he thought distantly, and it wasn’t going to be easy to keep balanced, not if he couldn’t get control of his fear. Having let himself know what he felt, know what he wanted, he couldn’t go backward, but this was getting harder and harder.

Or something. 

The moment Harper’s door slid shut, he had Dylan pushed against the wall again, dropped to his knees and as heart-stoppingly arousing as it was, something hit Dylan in the pit of his stomach. He grabbed Harper’s wrists and yanked him up, turned Harper against the wall and kissed him hard, slid his hands up under Harper’s shirt. Long hard kisses, and then Harper was panting into his mouth, and he leaned back, sweating and shaking a little. "You aren’t my goddamn sex toy," he said roughly.

Harper gasped, put a hand into his hair and shuddered when Dylan reached inside his pants. "The hell," he panted and tilted his head back. "I don’t mind, believe me. Use me, hey, I’m in favor." 

He heard it. Heard it and didn’t quite believe it, felt like someone had just slapped sense into him. Leaned back, releasing Harper. "Is that what you think?"

"What?" Harper’s voice was dazed. "What? Oh, jeez, I was just kidding, don’t get all wrought about it." Quick headshake. "Come on, Dylan."

He felt... odd. Dislocated. Confused. "What is it you think we’re doing here?" He hoped someone knew.

Harper told him, a little snarky, "I thought we’ve been having hot sex, lots of fun, and a little bit of comfort after nearly getting ourselves killed."

He stared at Harper. What the hell was wrong with him? What the hell had he been doing, here? He _knew_ better, he wasn’t a first year Captain, he’d commanded before, and what the _hell_ did he think he was doing. 

Harper’s eyebrows drew together. "What’s wrong with that?"

He was being ridiculous. He was having a breakdown. He was an idiot. But none of those three things stopped him from pulling his hand out of Harper’s pants, from carefully tucking Harper back together. "Nothing." Bleakly. He got up, raked a hand through his hair. "I need to do some thinking."

Harper’s scowl deepened. "Excuse me?"

"Look, I’m sorry." He hit the control for the door. "I’ve got to do some thinking. Okay? I’m sorry."

"Dylan--" Harper stopped, scowled more. "Fine. Whatever."

He nodded blindly, went through the door. The observation deck was still wrecked, but his own quarters were all right. He could go there. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him, but it didn’t feel good, it felt painful. And he’d been an idiot, an irresponsible idiot. Harper was vulnerable, he was vulnerable, and how in hell did he expect to go back to being Harper’s commanding officer when they’d recovered?

He was an idiot. Somehow, he made it to his quarters without paying much attention to where he was, found a bottle and a glass that were still intact and poured himself a drink. The drink didn’t help and the thinking only made him feel worse and when Harper showed up a few hours later, he was still sober and more depressed.

Harper didn’t say much, just looked at him. "You okay?" Muted.

He grimaced, gestured vaguely. "Yeah. I’m sorry. This isn’t a good idea. I know that, I knew that, but I let myself forget it."

Harper’s expression suggested that he was temporarily more confused than Dylan was, but he didn’t look surprised, exactly, or even hurt. "Okay." Cautiously. "Uh, so we stop." 

He leaned forward. Okay, maybe he was a little drunk. Just a very little bit. "Harper, I need you to know something. It isn’t about you, it isn’t that I don’t want--" He raked a hand through his hair, rubbed his face with both hands. "This can cause so many problems, and I know better, dammit, I’m sorry. I haven’t been thinking straight."

Harper nodded. His expression still... not quite impassive. Was there a touch of relief there? He wasn’t sure, maybe he was seeing things to make himself feel less like he’d just hurt someone he cared about. "Okay. It’s better to get it out of the way." 

He wasn’t sure what that meant. Wasn’t sure he wanted to know. And for an instant, he wanted Harper so badly that his entire body ached. "I realize this may be impossible, but I’d like this not to affect... our working relationship." He swallowed hard. "Or our friendship." Which was insane. He was the captain and Harper was his engineer, and whatever he felt for Harper, he’d seen respect and insolence in equal measure over the last year.

But now he was sure he saw relief in Harper. "Yeah. Yeah, I’m good with that. I mean, I understand, that whole crewmember/captain hierarchy thing, gotta be a bad idea, right? So I’m good, you’re good, we’re okay, right?"

A little manic, but maybe Harper felt as uncomfortable as he did. "We’re good."

"Great." Harper nodded. "Okay, then. Well, I’m going to get some sleep, we’re going to be heading out early." He backed toward Dylan’s door.

Dylan felt worse, though he hadn’t thought it was possible. As Harper reached the door, he said, a little desperately. "Harper?"

Harper turned, poised for flight. "Yeah?"

"Some decisions are harder than others."

Harper blinked at him once, nodded and then was gone.

Leaving him alone to consider his folly.

  


* * *

"I’m telling you, I’m worried about him." Beka took a sip of coffee, looked at each of the four of them in turn.

Harper’s stomach hurt. "Yeah." He’d been right, of course, it had to end. He hadn’t expected it quite so quickly, but hey, he’d been prepared.

He wasn’t sure why his stomach hurt the way it did, but maybe his gut hadn’t gotten the news that it was expected.

"Did he say anything to you before he went off to his own quarters on an empty ship?" Beka’s tone was sharp with frustration.

He shrugged. "Not really. He said something about needing to think."

Beka scowled at him, swallowed more coffee and put her cup in the ‘washer. "All right, people, let’s go. Harper, you stay here, make sure the Maru is ready to go in case Dylan’s superstitions come true."

His jaw dropped. "What the _hell_ \--"

"Don’t give me any lip, Seamus. Just do it."

He really, really, really didn’t like that. At all. But after a minute, he nodded, clamped his mouth shut and folded his arms.

"Trance, I want you with Harper, here. Tyr--" She frowned at Tyr. "You do whatever the hell you want."

"Beka," Harper said, unable to keep his mouth shut. "If something does break, you’re going to need me."

"That’s sense." Tyr’s tone was flat. "Unless you’re expecting our repairs not to hold...."

Beka scowled fiercely at both of them, but he could see the wheels in her mind turning. "Dammit, you’re right."

"If there is something wrong with Dylan, I should be there, just in case." Trance’s tone was innocent.

Beka looked at Tyr. "I suppose you’re going to volunteer to stay on the Maru."

"You won’t give me the command codes." 

"The last time you knew them, you stole my ship."

Tyr shrugged. "It’s entirely up to you. But I have confidence in our work."

That said, Beka surrendered. Not happily. She muttered all the way to command deck, where Dylan was waiting. 

"Good morning, people." Cheerful tone, but Dylan’s eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. 

Beka eyed him. "You look terrible."

Harper gave her a look. "Don’t mince words, Beka, tell him how you really feel," he cracked, then, cautiously, "You look tired, boss." Trying hard for normalcy.

Dylan managed a faint smile. "Had a little trouble sleeping. Haven’t had nerves like this since my first command." Making a joke of it.

Beka eyed him and stepped past to take the pilot’s seat. "Your calculations were fine, Dylan. I checked and double-checked."

"Good." Dylan took his usual place at command. "Well, people. Shall we find someplace we can get the rest of the repairs done? Maybe someplace where we can actually get a little sun, a little rest, and make plans for the next step?"

"Sounds good to me," Harper told him. "I’ll be over here if you need me."

Dylan nodded, not quite looking at him. 

Okay. Things were back to normal. Only they weren’t. He’d fucked up big time, he’d convinced himself it was okay, he could deal, only he wasn’t all that sure he was dealing. It wasn’t something he thought Dylan would really want to have discussed with other crewmembers, but he wished it was something he could talk to Beka about. If he could have borne talking to Rev and if Rev had been back in his right mind, he would have been able to talk to Rev, who never gave up anyone’s secrets. 

He was going to have to work it through on his own. "Ready, boss," he told Beka and ducked into his station. "Engines are good, power levels are optimal, let’s get the hell out of here."

Beka took her seat, fastened her belt. "Okay, then. Brace yourselves, first leg."

And then they were in slipstream.

  


* * *

//....Dylan is standing in a cavern, someplace he thinks he should know, but doesn’t. He’s standing in the shadows, and in the center, well-lit, is an enormous chess game, the figures life-sized. On one side of the board, Trance is standing, but she’s an eerily changed Trance, almost incandescent with light. Violet light, naturally, but it’s very bright.

Across from her, he sees the Enigma, blackness with red eyes, pulsating with malignance. 

Trance turns to him and smiles with delight. "You always have to sacrifice your pawns."

Dylan frowns, looks as one of the pieces shuffles to a new position. White, naturally. The piece looks startlingly familiar, but it isn’t until darkness envelops it that he recognizes Beka. Living chess pieces--he tries to move forward, to stop the game, but he’s frozen. Paralyzed. Only his eyes move.

Trance gestures and another piece moves forward. This one turns into Harper, and is swiftly enveloped, vanishes into darkness. 

He can’t shout, can’t scream, can’t move.

"Sometimes, you lose your knights and bishops, too." Trance smiles at him again, gestures, and he sees Tyr move forward, likewise swallowed up. Then it’s Rev Bem’s turn, all of them sacrificed.

Suddenly, she is all he can see, as if he’s staring into a vid screen, just Trance’s face, more and more luminous, radiating light. "But you have to remember, the king can be more powerful and important than your opponent realizes." Her smile is almost secretive. "And you have to remember, he may take your pieces, but he never wins the game. Even the pieces you sacrifice are important. He never wins the game."

Dylan’s eyes hurt from the light; he closes them, keeps them closed for a moment, and when he opens them, it’s nearly dark where he is, dark save for the glow of torches or candles at the far side of the cavern. Standing behind them, unlit by the glow, is the Enigma. Malignant absence of light and life, only hunger, the eyes, god, the eyes....

He hurts, god, how he hurts, and he hears moaning from nearby, turns his head to see Harper, his body distorted by what’s growing inside him. 

Harper turns his head, his face twisted in a rictus of agony. "Kill me, please." Begging him. "Please, please, kill me."

He still can’t move, but he can feel. He looks down at himself, sees his own body distorted, looks back at Harper in helpless horror, and Harper screams as the Magog spawn begin to eat their way out, Harper’s body is awash in blood, alive with horrid movement and there’s nothing he can do, Harper’s screams echo in the cavern and the Enigma pulsates....//

Dylan came upright, shaking convulsively, sheened in sweat. Dream, he thought distantly, dream, and then bolted from bed, ended up heaving his guts up over the toilet. 

The third night in a row. The same nightmare. Harper and Tyr and Beka dying, enigmatic Trance playing a sort of god game with the entity, and he was always the observer, apart, detached from it all. Except at the end, where they were all victims.

Three nights of watching Harper die in agony.

When the sickness had subsided to dry heaves, he gave up on sleep, took a shower. Stood under the hot water with his face turned into it, willing it to wash the residue of the nightmare from his brain. Willing his brain to work properly. Small steps back to sanity, that’s what he needed. He reminded himself that they had escaped, reminded himself that they were halfway home. A minor challenge with a pylon, and Harper and Tyr were working on it while they hung in normal space. 

He dressed in his uniform, sat on the foot of his bed, considering. ."Rommie, is there anyone in med-deck?" 

"No." Rommie’s voice was disembodied. "Dylan, are you in need of medical care? Shall I have Trance--"

"No, I want you to meet me there." Harper had gotten the avatar repaired. "Unless you’re working with Harper and Tyr."

"Very well, I’ll be there in four point three minutes."

He felt terrible. Really terrible. Wondered if there was something physically wrong with him. He would have rather there was something physical, he hoped there was something physical to explain all this, the sense of dread, the nightmares. 

Physically, aside from exhaustion, he seemed to be working properly. Strange thought to have. He beat Rommie to med-deck, spent a moment or two idly examining equipment until Rommie appeared.

"Dylan, are you ill?" Her voice was worried. "Trance is in Botanical sciences."

He rubbed his forehead. "I don’t know. I don’t want Trance here. I need you to run a complete physical scan."

"For what?"

He grimaced. "For anything abnormal."

Rommie’s expression was cautious. It was easy to forget that she was an avatar, easy to forget she wasn’t flesh and blood. "It might help if I knew what I was checking for, Dylan."

"I don’t know." He sat down on the examination table. Sighed. "I don’t feel well. I’m having trouble sleeping, and I’m having extraordinarily vivid nightmares. I... I’ve behaved out of character. I don’t have much of an appetite. My chest aches in a vague, nonspecific way. The claw wounds from the Magog have pretty much healed, but I’m exhausted all the time. I’m having trouble making decisions."

Rommie gazed at him. "Dylan, those symptoms are rather... vague."

"I know." He gazed back. "You see my concern."

Rommie nodded after a moment. "Very well." Dubious tone. "But if I find nothing physical, I think you know what that leaves."

He didn’t want to know. "We’ll talk about it later."

"Lie down, then," she said and moved to shift the scanner.

He closed his eyes. 

She was very thorough. Embarrassingly thorough. And aside from the effects of mild alcohol poisoning, he was fine. The claw wounds were healing precisely as they ought, he had no hidden physical ailments, although his blood pressure was slightly higher than normal. It was still in the normal range.

"I would suggest," Rommie said gently, "that perhaps this is an emotional rather than a physical ailment, Dylan."

He sat on the edge of the table, brooding. "I’ve been in battle before."

"Not like this." Her gaze, as always, was direct. "Somehow, you survived what killed my former crew. Just six of you, and you survived. I think it would be surprising if there weren’t emotional aftershocks. And whatever has gone wrong between you and Harper has only added stress."

His jaw dropped, he fairly goggled at her. "What?"

She looked back at him. "In your private relationship." 

He nearly fell off the table. "Rommie, what are you--never mind."

"Dylan," she said primly, "You instructed me to monitor vitals yourself. Your respiration and pulse rates increase, there is evidence of pheromone production--"

"Never mind." He put his face in his hands. "It doesn’t matter. Nothing’s gone wrong, it was something that shouldn’t have happened, it was inappropriate." Tiredly. "So it’s all in my head."

"I think it’s emotional, Dylan. I think you haven’t allowed yourself time to recognize that." Her voice was very soft. "You have all been through a great deal of emotional and physical trauma."

"I’ve been through both before. I didn’t fall apart then."

She was silent a moment. "Perhaps it’s cumulative, Dylan."

Now there was a cheery thought. He nodded finally. She’d given him a clean bill of health, he simply had to haul himself out of this pit. There were people counting on him. "Thank you, Rommie."

She didn’t look comfortable exactly. "I think you should rest. That may be part of the problem, Dylan. The markers for fatigue byproducts are higher than normal. I can clear the alcohol from your system and give you something to help you sleep."

He stared blankly at the wall. "All right." He had to function. Had to. He had responsibilities.

"Lie down again," she said and moved to a medical cabinet.

He grimaced and obeyed.

He had responsibilities, after all. People depending on him. Rommie. He owed it to them all to pull himself together.

He didn’t have any other choice.

  


* * *

Repairing the broken seam in the pylon wasn’t a treat, but it didn’t take long, and it felt good to Harper to be _doing_ something besides feeling sorry for himself. 

"I suggest that you fix things with Dylan," Tyr said, as they were walking toward the galley. 

Harper nearly stumbled. "What?"

Tyr gave him a disgusted look. "Don’t play innocent with me, I’m neither vision impaired or nose blind."

"I’m not. Playing innocent." But his face felt hot. "I just didn’t expect you to comment." He hadn’t expected Tyr to notice, let alone comment. And wasn’t it just hilarious that Tyr, famously observant, hadn’t caught a clue that it had been very short term and was done. Not.

Tyr snorted. "I would not have if it weren’t apparent that Dylan is--disturbed."

"Don’t blame that on me." His throat ached suddenly.

Tyr appeared to be considering that. "I don’t think I am. But it has exacerbated whatever it is that ails him."

"Hey, you and I might have no trouble planning to wipe out an entire species, but it gives Dylan trouble." He felt obscurely that he had to defend Dylan. "Besides, he’s the captain, I’m the hired help, whatever might have happened, rest easy, it’s done."

Tyr looked at him. "Done?"

"Over. Finito. Finis. Gone. Erased." He shrugged, rolled his eyes. "You’re usually quicker on the uptake, Tyr. I’m shocked."

Tyr frowned. "Thus my point. I suggest you fix things."

The ache turned into a flare of temper. "Look, you aren’t getting it. It’s done. His choice, he’s the captain and I’m not. So deal. Whatever his problem is now, it’s not me. It’s what he’s worrying about, the Magog and that thing." He shuddered suddenly, spun around when Tyr touched him, heart hammering. "Sorry, sorry."

Tyr’s mouth flattened out. "You aren’t the only ones to have nightmares." Softly.

He nodded. "I know." His mouth was dry. "Tyr, do you remember what happened?"

Tyr glanced away. "Not entirely."

"Neither do I." He shuddered again. "Sometimes I wish I did."

"Sometimes knowing is better than imagining." Tyr seemed to be agreeing with him.

He hoped _that_ wouldn’t evaporate like his involvement with Dylan. "Yeah. A lot better." Muted.

They walked back to their respective quarters in silence.

Once the door closed, Harper threw himself on his bed. Twitched there for a while and finally gave up, made his way back to the Maru.

His bed still held Dylan’s scent, despite the passage of days. Rolling onto his belly, he put his face into the pillow Dylan had used, felt all the unspecified misery he’d been denying for days like a stone in his belly. 

Great. Wonderful. Fabulous. He, Seamus Zelazny Harper, was a fucking fool. He knew better. He’d known better. He’d thought he’d _done_ better. 

It didn’t make the stone go away, but eventually, the scent of Dylan’s hair and skin let him sleep.

  


* * *

Dylan was on the command deck when Beka arrived.

She gave Dylan a long look. "You okay?"

Dylan arched an eyebrow. "Much better. A good night’s sleep." He felt Tyr look at him, ignored it. "You?"

Beka blinked, frowned. "Yeah, fine. We ready?"

He nodded, took his place at the console, looked around the deck. "Let’s do it."

Slipstream. 

A wave of dizziness and that wasn’t a good sign. He wasn’t handling slipstream well, but it could simply be exhaustion. Traveling in slipstream took a toll on a lot of people, and when they emerged, he felt like one of them, never mind he couldn’t have gotten on the command track as a cadet if he’d had a problem with it. Still, Beka had done well. Two more threads and they’d in shouting distance of El Dorado Drift.

She looked over her shoulder briefly before entering slipstream again. This time, his hands were shaking when they came out, he gripped the edge of the console to hide that fact, nodded reassurance at Beka when she glanced back again.

Last one, he told himself and tightened his grip. Last one for a while. They’d be safe, or at least safer, and he could get himself sorted out again. This time, the dizziness was acute, he closed his eyes, didn’t open them until the ship emerged from the thread. His stomach did a lazy roll, and it was all he could do to keep his expression disciplined when Beka looked back at him. 

"Normal space from here on in, boys and girls," Beka said, sounding vaguely satisfied. "And then everybody can relax a little."

"Absolutely," Dylan said, still gripping the console. 

"Are you all right?" Tyr’s voice was even. 

He risked looking that way, nodded. "I’m fine, why?"

Tyr frowned. "You look a bit pale."

He considered and discarded several responses. 

"Hey," Harper said suddenly. "Not everyone can have your complexion, Tyr." He grinned at Dylan brightly. "I myself have a blue-white luster I’m very proud of."

Tyr looked down his nose at Harper. "Pale skin is subject to more damage than darker skin."

Harper shrugged comically. "Hey, it’s me. I’m okay with it."

Dylan managed to chuckle. "I’m not surprised."

Beka was studying him, too, when he glanced back at her. "He’s right, you do look a little pale."

Dylan faked a shrug. "I’m fine, Beka. Okay, people, we can stand down. Beka, I’ll take the helm if you like, let you get some rest. Gods willing, we won’t need any fancy dancing from here on in, and if we do, I’ll let you handle it." Tacit admission he wasn’t up to it, but lying to his first officer was stupid. 

She studied him another long moment. "Right. See that you do." But it wasn’t sharp, it was gentle, and she nodded at him before unstrapping herself.

He loosened his grip on the console as she walked past, leaned casually against it. The dizziness was receding, and the nausea, but he still moved carefully down to the pilot’s seat, settled back in it with relief.

Tyr followed Beka off, and he suspected that Trance was caring for Rev, which left Harper, who came over, oddly diffident. "You want some coffee or something? I’m going to get some for myself."

God. Harper. He rubbed his cheek, smiled ruefully. "I look that bad, do I?"

Harper shrugged. "You _are_ pretty pale."

He laughed. "Coffee would be great, thanks."

Harper cocked his hand like a gun. "You got it. Anything to eat?"

His stomach was too chancy. And Harper’s smile made it worse, seeing Harper reminded him too vividly of the nightmare. "Just coffee, thanks."

Harper nodded, headed off.

Dylan sighed, let himself relax, deep breaths to ease the last remaining queasiness. It was possible, of course, that it was simply that he hadn’t been hurt this badly in some years, that his body was still healing and thus the physical malaise. The nightmares could explain the mental malaise, but he was uncomfortably sure they were only the symptom.

He’d never gotten high scores on prescience. Never wanted them. But the nightmares--he was growing more and more afraid that they were meant to tell him something.

And he wasn’t mystical in the least.

  


* * *

Harper headed toward the galley, freshly depressed. Why, he wasn’t sure; he ought to be reassured that he and Dylan could still talk to each other like intelligent human beings. Well, at least like human beings who were friendly, who basically liked and respected each other.

He wished Dylan hadn’t said that thing about some decisions being more difficult. It kept coming into his head, making him wish for things he couldn’t have, making him hope for things he knew wouldn’t happen. He was a goddamn idiot, that was all, and the sooner he got that internalized, the happier he’d be. Maybe it was just weakness, left over from the Magog and terror and being hurt.

He hoped.

As he passed the intersection of a corridor, he heard Beka’s voice, paused briefly.

"...I don’t think he’s firing on all thrusters these days." 

Harper frowned, stepped back behind the corner. 

"He isn’t." Tyr’s voice. "He was in med-deck yesterday with the avatar. I checked medical logs, he had her give him a complete physical scan."

Harper narrowed his eyes. This was not sounding good. Not at all. 

"And?"

"And there was apparently nothing physically wrong with him except for a mild case of alcohol poisoning. Apparently, he spent the night in his quarters drinking."

There was a silence.

Don’t, Beka, Harper thought and closed his eyes. Just... just don’t, please.

"That’s not reassuring." Beka sounded genuinely disturbed, he had to grant her that. "And it’s even less reassuring that Rommie didn’t see fit to tell anyone."

"Exactly. And Harper hasn’t exactly been forthcoming either."

There was another brief silence. Harper winced. Tyr, that bastard--

"Why would Harper know anything about it?" Beka sounded honestly puzzled.

"Because of their relationship." Tyr’s tone was patient. "Really, I thought women were supposed to be more observant of these things, Beka."

"Harper and Dylan?" The disbelief in her voice was... would have been hilarious. "Are you serious?"

"I am." Even tone. Typical Tyr. 

"What... how? I mean, when?" Beka sounded thunderstruck. "I mean, what do they even have in common?"

"Beka, really." Cool amusement. "I confess to not understanding it myself, but perhaps it’s simply a matter of propinquity breeding desire. Or, perhaps, it’s another symptom of his mental instability. At any rate, Harper claims it’s finished."

Harper took in a deep, slow breath. He was going to kill Tyr. Seriously. Really. Bonding or no. 

"I think," Beka said and he heard her footsteps. "I think we’re going to have to confine him to his quarters."

"What you mean is that you think we’re going to have to take over the ship." Tyr’s voice was cool.

Whoa. That’s what he’d feared. Edging away, Harper started back toward command deck. Hesitated, fatally, and the footsteps sped up.

"Harper! Dammit!"

He took off, but it was ridiculously easy for Tyr’s longer legs to catch up with him and Tyr’s arm went around his neck. "No, no, we can’t have that." Dry tone. He struggled, tried stamping on Tyr’s instep, but Tyr was quicker. "I don’t want to hurt you, Harper," Tyr growled. "Behave yourself."

"Harper." Beka sounded a little breathless. "Dammit, Harper. It’s not what you think."

"No? What is it, then?" He sounded like he was strangling. Probably because he was. A little. Tyr let go of his neck and took hold of his arms. Hard. "Don’t do this, Beka. He’s a little depressed, that’s all, just like the rest of us!"

"Rev is still curled up in his cabin like a rock," Beka snapped suddenly. "Do you think I want that to happen to Dylan? You saw him this morning, Harper. You know what can happen if he really is having a breakdown."

"Don’t do this," he said again, sweating. "You know what it is, he’s worried about what to do about the Magog, what needs to be done." He craned his head around, looked at Tyr. "You bastard, you _know_ that."

"There is no bastardy among my people," Tyr said calmly. "And knowing that doesn’t mean that I don’t have very valid concerns, boy."

He struggled again, yelped when Tyr’s fingers dug into his upper arms. "What are you going to do? Beka, this is wrong. You know it’s wrong."

"I know that I have a responsibility, too." Her face was pale. "I don’t like it, Harper. But I think it has to be done."

"You are soooooo wrong." He struggled again, biting his lip against the pain. "Don’t, Beka. Just don’t. God, listen to me!"

"I don’t think so." Tyr’s voice was regretful.

Bright blossom of pain in his head and he sank forward into grey, roused again to find himself in a cell in the brig.

"Beka!" Blearily, holding his head. "Dammit, Beka, this is wrong!"

But there was no answer.

He paced, trying to think past the ache in his head. He really was going to kill Tyr. If it took the rest of his life. 

It took four passes around the cell before he realized they hadn’t taken his toolbelt. It took five tries before he got the security override working. It took ten minutes to find out that Dylan had indeed been confined to his quarters.

A direct approach seemed like a mistake. So he went through the airducts instead.

  


* * *

Dylan sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, caught between hilarity and bone-deep rage. Beka had his ship. He’d given her the command keys and codes, he’d waited until he felt that he could trust her with them, and now she had his ship.

She and Tyr both.

Harper was nowhere about. At least he hadn’t seen Harper, and Harper hadn’t returned with his coffee. He hoped Harper was okay. Hoped Harper wasn’t part of the betrayal. Not that it mattered exactly.

Except it did.

"Dylan." A whisper.

He raised his head, startled. There wasn’t anyone in his quarters but him, and it had been--he looked up at the wall above his bed. Ventilation grill. "Harper?"

"Yeah. Give me a hand, can you? It’s hard to open this thing without falling out."

He blinked. "You’ll fall on the bed."

"Yeah? I can’t see much." 

A faint grinding, a faint humming, and the grill fell along with Harper. Dylan managed to keep the grill from serving as landing pad, and semi-caught Harper, who had a bruise near his hairline. "What happened to you?"

"Tyr thumped me." Grim look. "They put me in the brig. Come on, let’s get out of here."

He almost laughed. "Harper, where are we going to go? This is my ship? I’m not leaving it."

Harper’s expression was... dangerous. Feral. "Easy. We’re taking the Maru. Tit for tat."

He did laugh then. "You think she’ll trade? Harper, she thinks I’m mentally ill."

"Screw that." Harper was fierce. "She’ll trade. The Maru is hers."

Dylan started to shake his head. Considered it instead. Grinned. "What the hell. She already thinks I’m insane. Aren’t you worried she might be right?"

Harper looked away, and his expression made Dylan’s throat hurt. "No, I’m not." Steady voice. "I wish... she’s wrong, that’s all."

God, what Harper must be feeling right now. Escaping from the brig to come and help _him_ against Beka, long time friend, practically family member. He wished he could offer reassurances.

Harper blinked hard at him. "Let’s get out of here. I suggest we use the access tube network, be faster, we can cut across corridors, and they won’t think of it right away."

"She’s got the command codes," Dylan said dryly. "That means she controls Rommie. Which means all she has to do is ask Rommie to locate me."

Feral smile. "Oh. Well. I can fix that. Come on."

Against his better judgement, he did.

They made it into the access tubes without any alarm. 

He hadn’t known until he’d heard Harper’s whisper how much he’d hoped that Harper wasn’t a part of this. Hadn’t realized how hard it would have been to get past that. He could understand Beka. Ultimately, he might be able to forgive Beka. But he would never be able to trust Beka the way he had. At least he didn’t think so. He hoped he was wrong.

It hurt having Beka betray him. He could understand Tyr. Tyr looked out for Tyr, and if Tyr doubted he was sane....

He looked at Harper, just ahead of him. He envied Harper’s build for once, he was having to practically crawl. God, what must Harper feel? Betrayed and betraying, and yet Harper had chosen. If they did take the Maru--he was torn between the need to protect Harper from that choice and the need to take back his ship.

It made his throat ache again. The more so because... because.

Once in the access tube, Harper found the board he wanted, started to plug himself in.

Dylan put a hand on his shoulder. "Harper." Steady voice, steady gaze. "I want my ship back. I’ll get my ship back. I don’t want you violating your ethics to make sure I get it back." 

Harper blinked hard. "Would you say that if we hadn’t, ah... been involved?"

Dylan thought about it, brutal self-honesty. Would he? He thought he would. Reluctantly, but yes. "Yes, I think I would. I think I can understand Beka. I’m still going to kick her ass six ways from Sol to here, but I think I understand her."

"Well, I don’t." Harper’s eyes were too bright. "If anyone is whacked out right now, I’m starting to think it’s her." 

Dylan shook at him gently. "Harper."

Harper blinked hard, scowled. "I’m not doing this because of that."

There was some relief in that, even if there was also some pain. Dylan smiled a little. "Good." 

Harper smiled shakily at him, and plugged himself in. He was a little worried, watching Harper’s face go almost blissfully slack. Please, gods, don’t let Beka have taken total control, don’t let Rommie hurt Harper in throwing him out of the ‘net.

The minutes crawled past, and then Harper’s eyes opened, Harper gave him a feral smile. "Okay. Even if Rommie sees us, she’s not going to rat us out. And she’s going to meet us at the Maru as soon as she can."

He managed to contain his relief. "Are you all right?"

"Yup. Beka’s behind, she hasn’t entered the command codes yet." Harper looked away.

He put his hand back on Harper’s shoulder. "Harper, she may be having second thoughts." Softly.

"I hope so." Harper sighed, brightened. "And they don’t know we’re gone yet. Let’s get moving, element of surprise and all that."

"Lead on." Dylan patted, gestured.

"You got it." Harper seemed a little more hopeful.

He hoped Beka _was_ having second thoughts. Hoped like hell. It would make it easier for him to pick up the pieces and rebuild them.

  


* * *

The Maru sat in the bay as always. 

Harper had already set Rommie to be blind to their presence in the bay, but he still felt the skin between his shoulder blades twitch as they crossed to the ramp.

The minute he and Dylan were inside, he started to close her up.

"So how are we going to get out of the bay?" Dylan seemed more amused than worried.

"Um. Well. I set up a connection. Reason I was hurrying. Bay’s going to open in eight minutes, stay open long enough for us to jet out of here, and then close." He looked at Dylan. "You up to piloting?"

Rueful look. "Since we’re not going into slipstream, yeah, I am."

Harper nodded. "Let me run through the checklist then." He was still hurting, and not just his head, but Dylan’s calm acceptance of his conflicted loyalties had helped. Dylan’s acknowledgement that there had been something between them had helped a lot more. Which was nuts.

Dylan’s realization that Beka was screwing up honestly helped the most. 

Dylan looked at him "You," he began and then shook his head. "Remember what I said."

He had to look away for a minute. "Yeah. I will." Hoarsely. "Thanks, Dylan."

Faint smile. "De nada."

He managed to dredge up a grin from somewhere before he left Dylan on the bridge.

He ran through the checklist, conscious of the passage of time, arrived back on the bridge to see Dylan grimly watching the boards. "Ready?"

"As ready as I can be," Dylan told him. The bay began to open. "Steady, we don’t want to jump the gun."

Harper waited, tense, and the comm board lit up like an Albuquerque Drift casino. "They’re on to us."

Dylan glanced quickly. "We’re all right." Confidently. "Here we go." He guided the Maru out of the bay and into the vacuum of space.

Harper relaxed, leaned against the back of the pilot’s chair. "Okay. Checkmate."

"Let’s hope it’s not just check." Quick grin and Dylan hit the comm button.

"Harper." Beka’s face filled the screen. She blinked. "Dylan."

"Beka." Dylan leaned back, smiled faintly. 

Her expression was horrified. "Harper, what have you done!"

"The right thing." He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. "You were wrong, Beka."

She glanced away from the screen briefly. "Look. Okay. Maybe I was. Let’s talk about this like reasonable people."

"Don’t ask me. It wasn’t my ship you stole." He blinked hard again.

Beka seemed to be having some trouble with looking at Dylan. "Dylan." 

"Beka." Dylan wasn’t giving anything away.

"You have to admit, you haven’t been behaving normally."

"I don’t have any difficulty admitting that. I don’t even have any difficulty with the fact that Tyr invaded my medical records. Given your concerns, I have to grant that’s fair enough. After that, however, the issue becomes less one of concern and more one of mutiny."

Beka looked away again, rubbed her forehead. "Dylan, that’s not what this is."

"Really? Then why was it necessary to knock Harper unconscious and put him in the brig?" 

Harper glanced at the back of Dylan’s head in surprise. Dylan’s tone had been... dangerous. "‘M okay," he muttered, a little embarrassed.

"That was a bad decision," she admitted. 

"Yes, it was."

The two of them stared at each other for a moment. Harper’s heart thumped hard, waiting.

Beka finally surrendered. He reckoned Dylan would have sat there until time ran out or they fell into another black hole. "Okay, I went about things wrong. Dylan, we have some real concerns about your mental state."

"So I gathered." Dylan’s tone was dry. "While you were hacking my medical file, did either of you bother to note Rommie’s diagnosis? Did she indicate I was psychotic?"

Beka glanced aside again, closed her eyes briefly. "No." Very softly.

"Beka, are you crazy?" Harper whirled to see Trance standing with her hands on her hips. "Because Dylan isn’t."

Harper’s jaw dropped. He’d seen Trance annoyed--hell, he’d actually believed she might shoot him once--but she looked like she was spitting mad. 

"Trance." Beka looked unhappier than ever. "All right, look, we went about this the wrong way, can we start over?"

"Submit yourselves for a full medical scan and transmit the results and I’ll think about it." Dylan’s tone was still iron. "Maru out." He closed the link and turned to look at Trance. Smiled crookedly. "Trance, would you do me a great favor?"

Trance eyed him. "Of course, Dylan."

"Check Harper’s hard head and make sure there aren’t any soft spots from that thump Tyr gave him."

Harper flushed. "I’m okay." But Dylan’s gaze met his, warm and worried and, oh, hell, fine. "But she can check me."

"Good. You don’t want to make me mad, Harper." Trance’s tone was sweet. 

He eyed her nervously. He remembered all too well.

  


* * *

"You’re fine, I think." Trance sounded dubious. "But I’ll bet you have a headache."

"Yeah," Harper admitted. "I do."

She gave him a long look. "I don’t want to give you anything for it," she said finally, worriedly. "But I think you’re okay. Can you deal?"

"Yeah, I’m fine. Just makes me cranky." He looked away for a minute, gathering his thoughts. "Trance, when--when I was hurt, I don’t remember much. I remember hurting like hell and you and Beka there, giving me cold water and wiping my face off, and--" For some reason, this was hard. "I remember you telling Dylan he didn’t have your permission to die. Did I dream that?"

She was silent for a long minute. Finally nodded. "You were both so badly hurt. Dylan had nearly bled out." She didn’t quite look at him. "I used supplies from Andromeda and I had Rommie linked in through the comm, but I was afraid, Harper. He nearly--" She bit her lip. "It was very, very close several times. I said a lot of things." Sudden impish grin. "I said you’d be really upset if he died, and he had a responsibility to you. I said I didn’t give him permission. I don’t even remember half the threats I made, but I made a lot. And he didn’t die."

He felt chilled. A little sick to his stomach. "God. No wonder he’s having trouble. Does he know?"

She shook her head, bit her lip again. "I didn’t know if it was a good idea to tell him. But now... I didn’t even tell Beka, Beka was too close to the edge."

"Maybe you better." He shivered. "Maybe she’ll get her head out of her--"

"Harper!" But Trance nodded thoughtfully. "That’s a very good idea, actually." Sudden smile again. "Why don’t you take the helm, let me talk to Dylan."

He nodded. "Okay. He had some trouble with slipstream this morning."

She nodded thoughtfully. "He’s pushed himself very hard."

He nodded again, wincing as he thought of Dylan missing the handhold again. Dumb kid trick, Dylan had called it, hands shaking badly enough that Harper had held the bottle of electrolyte replacement to his mouth. "Okay, I’ll send him back to you."

She patted his shoulder. "Harper, Beka’s not stupid. Well," she added ruefully, "Not usually, anyway."

He sighed, rubbed his forehead. "Okay, I’ll send him back." Vaguely. He personally didn’t know how he was supposed to get past the fact that a) Beka had thought he was so focused on his dick that he had no judgement and b) that Beka had let Tyr thump him unconscious.

For all he knew, locking him in the brig had been her idea.

Dylan was brooding, of course, which was hardly surprising. Harper leaned against the pilot’s chair. "Her Purpleness requests your presence."

Dylan arched an eyebrow. "For?"

He grinned faintly. "Turnabout. She wants to check you over, I think."

"Nobody thumped me in the head." Dryly. Dylan looked at him and whatever Dylan saw there, he sighed and got up. "All right, all right."

"I guarantee you they’re still arguing about whose idea this was." Harper managed a crooked grin. "I’ll hold down the fort."

Brief smile in return and Dylan went. 

It took a while. When Dylan returned, his expression was--well, almost lighthearted. Harper eyed him. "Did Trance give you drugs?"

It startled laughter out of Dylan. "No, why?"

"You look like you’re in an awfully good mood."

Dylan grinned. "Trance seems to think that it will be a while before we hear from Beka or Tyr, but when we do, there will be much conciliation and apology."

Harper blinked. "Okay." He thought about it. "Okay. So we shut down communications and take a nap."

"Excuse me?" Dylan eyed him. "What if Tyr decides to fire on the Maru." Dry tone.

"He’s self-interested, not homicidal." Harper considered that. "Otherwise, one or both of us would be dead." 

Dylan winced. "Good point."

"Besides, my head hurts." He put on what he hoped was a plaintive expression. "And you look a little tired, too."

Dylan blinked, sighed. "I’ve only been awake for six hours, Harper."

"So? We’ve been working like Virassian mine slaves for weeks." He shrugged.

Closing his eyes, Dylan considered. "Why do I feel like I’m caught in a net of conspiracy between you and Trance?"

"Because you know my wily nature." Harper forced a grin, slid out of the pilot’s chair. "Come on. I’m only conning you for my own good. If you’re awake, you’ll make me work, and my head hurts. Besides, you’ve got your choice of rooms this time."

There was an awkward silence. Dylan rubbed his forehead, his cheek. "Harper." Huskily.

Something stretched out between them, some tension, something, and Harper panicked. No way. No fucking way. "I’m going to get some sleep," he said hastily and made tracks before anything could happen.

Or not happen.

At least this way, he could tell himself he’d been the one to choose.

  


* * *

Dylan had been managed an hour of sleep before the damned repetitive nightmare returned. He must be getting a little bit used to it, he didn’t vomit this time.

But it haunted him enough that he violated Harper’s quarters just to see that Harper was all right, that the nightmare was only a nightmare. That Harper was whole.

He sat down on the edge of the bed he’d once shared and studied Harper. If he knew Seamus Harper at all, he could be pretty damn certain that underneath the comic attitude and the smart-ass comments was someone hurting a lot. Of course, so was he. Probably not as badly as Harper, whose personal loyalty to Beka had always been bedrock, but even with his comprehension of Beka’s reasons, the betrayal cut deeply.

He wondered if he’d imagined the moment of tension. He knew he hadn’t imagined wavering in his convictions. Knew he hadn’t imagined thinking how pliant and warm Harper would feel against him. And wasn’t that proof of some decline in his ability to think clearly? Or his ethics? It wouldn’t have been fair to Harper. 

The bruise was visible, even in the dim light of Harper’s quarters. Tyr had thumped Harper in the head to keep him from warning Dylan, or so he assumed. He hadn’t asked, and Harper hadn’t volunteered. It put a lump in his throat, knowing that, and made him feel a pang of guilt that he hadn’t been sure until Harper had shown up in the ventilation grill in his quarters. Conflicting loyalties, that was what he’d reckoned with, and given Radhe’s very determined attempt to kill him, he hadn’t wanted to hope for more.

Reaching out, he nearly touched Harper’s hair, drew his hand back. Spikier than usual, given a crawl through air ducts and access tubes, Harper’s hair gave new meaning to the word disorderly. Asleep, Harper looked absurdly young and a little sad, even in sleep. It stirred the queasiness left over from the nightmare.

Harper twitched and stirred and his eyelids fluttered. "Mmmawhazzit?" 

Dylan leaned over, spoke softly. "Sorry. I’m going to the bridge. Go back to sleep, I just wanted to let you know."

Harper pushed himself up, blinked at Dylan and frowned. "Oh. Okay." 

"Go on back to sleep. How’s your head?"

"S’okay." Harper tossed the blanket away, swung his legs over the side of the bed to sit next to Dylan. "The longer she sweats, the stronger your hand." Old eyes, cynical eyes, and there was sadness there, too.

He sighed inwardly. "I don’t mind keeping her off balance, Harper, but if we’re going to rebuild things, I don’t want...." He shrugged, rubbed his chin. "Off balance is one thing, at a total disadvantage is another."

Abruptly, Harper was Harper again. "Yeah." Muted. "Just give me ten minutes, and I’ll be there." Sober look. "Okay?"

He studied Harper, surrendered. "Okay." Smiled ruefully. "After all, you broke us out." Trying to lighten things.

It didn’t work. Harper nodded soberly, looked around for his boots.

Sighing inwardly, Dylan headed for the bridge.

Trance greeted him with a smile. "They’ve tried to contact us several times."

"Good." Dylan leaned on the back of the pilot’s seat. "Well, they can wait a few more minutes, Harper wants in on this, and frankly, I think he’s earned it."

Trance studied him. "You’re really angry about that, aren’t you." 

"Angry is probably an understatement, Trance." He sighed. "To be honest, I can’t believe that Tyr did it and I can’t believe that Beka let him."

Trance was silent for a moment. "She may not have let him, exactly, Dylan."

He glanced at her. Thought about it. "Tyr does tend to act preemptively," he agreed dryly. "Point granted, but what was she thinking, locking him in the brig?"

"Maybe she was thinking she didn’t want him to feel like he could have stopped her later." Reasonable tone, Trance’s usual better angels spin on anyone’s behavior. 

But... but, it was just possible. He hoped that was it. If that was the case, it was also possible that she’d made sure Harper was all right before locking him in. 

He hoped. It would be easier for Harper, and easier for him. "I hope you’re right," he told Trance softly. "I really do, Trance."

She nodded, solemnly. "Tyr--I think, honestly, that Tyr was careful, Dylan. He could have hit him in the temple." 

"Trance," he said warningly, but it was impossible to resist her. Besides, who knew what Trance _knew_. "I’ll try and bear that in mind."

She beamed at him.

Harper appeared a few moments later, sipping at one of his colas. "Call ‘em. Let’s get this over with." 

Underneath the humorous tone, Dylan thought he heard a brittle note. He nodded, sat down and reached for the comm board. It took a moment, but Beka appeared onscreen. 

Harper had been right, for whatever reason. Beka’s expression was strained. "Dylan." 

"Beka." Mildly.

"Look. I’m sorry. I was wrong. I--well, Tyr and I both apologize. Please, um, let’s settle this like rational human beings."

He gave her a long look, let her worry a little. "The two of you will surrender your weapons to Rommie and report to the security level. Rommie?"

"Understood." Rommie appeared behind Beka, her avatar’s expression as severe as he’d ever seen it. 

Beka swallowed hard, set her jaw and shot a hard glance to one side, presumably to Tyr. "Agreed."

"Rommie, when the two of them are in detention, I’ll bring the Maru in." He found he was clenching his fist. "And Beka, you and Tyr might spend your time considering whether or not you owe apologies to your fellow crewmembers, Mr. Harper in particular."

She swallowed hard again. "Harper, I--"

Dylan glanced at Harper, who had turned away from the screen. 

"Just get smart, Rebeka." Muted and Harper looked at her once he’d spoken. "That’s all I want."

She nodded. 

"Maru out," Dylan said and closed the link. Looked at Harper for a long moment. "Are you all right?" Softly.

Harper nodded, managed a crooked grin. "Nice touch, locking them up."

He nodded. "Harper."

Harper sobered, glanced away. "Hey, I’m fine. The whole thing sucks, that’s all. But hell, you could have done worse to her. Mutiny is mutiny, no matter what she wants to call it."

Dylan nodded. "Technically, yes. At the very least, she’d have been sentenced to hard time, if she’d been in the High Guard. However, she’s not, and Tyr’s not, and I’ve had to learn some flexibility in my old age." Trying for a mild tone, trying to get Harper to look at him.

Harper did, finally, eyes a little too bright, mouth quirked. "And that’s why they’re lucky." 

He wanted to hug Harper, to reassure him. But he couldn’t. "We’ll deal with it step by step, right?"

Harper nodded. "Hell, yes." Not quite happy. Not quite unhappy. 

At this point, Dylan rather thought that was the best he could hope for.

  


* * *

Once on board again, he had Rommie bring Tyr to him first. Tyr wasn’t defiant, nor was there any sign of repentance. Perhaps a trace of regret.

"It was not based on personal differences," Tyr told him calmly. "But I was not at all certain that you were, in fact, sane."

"And why is that?" He arched an eyebrow in question.

"It was... a cumulative impression." Abruptly, Tyr looked off to the side. "Your relationship with Mr. Harper. Your evident preoccupation with returning to deal with the entity and the Magog. Your evident depression."

He waited out the flare of rage that threatened his composure. "We humans are fragile at times," he said coolly. "Depression is a natural reaction to physical trauma and near death. Any relationship I may have or have had with Mr. Harper is between the two of us, and I don’t expect to have it commented upon again. As for my alleged preoccupation with the Magog, I’d suggest to you that perhaps you’ve let your imagination run away with you. We _must_ find a way to deal with the Magog and the entity _must_ be dealt with or destroyed, but I’m hardly ready to hurl this ship and crew back into the face of death. A good commander plans, Tyr. A good commander doesn’t make those plans without data, and I lack data. But I’m shocked, I never took you for a coward." He said it deliberately, looking directly at Tyr, and there was something unworthy about the pleasure he felt at seeing Tyr’s flinch.

"I’m no coward." Tyr looked at him, directly. "You know better."

He leaned back in his chair. "Do I? You’ve just told me that apparently your concern that I would take us back there led to mutiny. What else am I to think?"

Tyr’s eyes narrowed. "As you say, a wise man doesn’t go into certain death without a plan to escape it."

"Very glib." He leaned back. "Then, of course, there’s the fact that you knocked Harper unconscious and locked him in the brig." 

For the first time, he thought there might be repentance in Tyr’s expression. "I acted hastily," Tyr said grudgingly. "I had no desire to harm him, only a need to get him out of the way." Rueful look at Dylan. "Of course, I also acted unwisely. I expected him to remain unconscious for at least another hour, and I neglected to remove his tool belt."

Dylan leaned forward, rested his elbows on his desk and steepled his hands together. Gazed at Tyr. "I still have yet to see those medical reports on you and Beka." Mildly.

Tyr glanced away again. "Ah, yes." Dryly. "Well, presuming, of course, that Andromeda’s scans are accurate, I daresay you’ll find them interesting."

He arched his eyebrow again. "Yes?"

"High levels of anxiety are indicated by certain hormonal indicators." Dry again. "By which evidence, I’m forced to admit that I acted unwisely as well as hastily, and not merely in striking Harper."

"Am I to take that as an apology."

More discomfort. "It could be taken as such."

He was hard put not to smile, despite the seriousness of the matter. That was probably as much as he was going to get from Tyr. The admissions themselves were significant, and it might be wiser to quit while he was ahead. "If anything similar were to occur again, the resolution will be very different." Flatly.

"Noted." This time, there was a faintly apologetic air about Tyr. "But it will not."

He hoped not. "You’re dismissed."

Tyr looked at him for a long moment. "Just like that?"

"Not at all. I intend to have your activities monitored for a nonspecific time." He smiled thinly. "At the first sign of questionable behavior, I’ll have drones disarm you and throw you out the nearest airlock."

Tyr studied him. "I almost believe you."

"That would be wise." 

They stared at each other for a moment before Tyr rose. "May I assume that Captain Valentine will also be afforded clemency."

He tilted his head back and gave Tyr a hooded glance. "That remains to be seen and is hardly your affair."

Tyr nodded, but there was something.... He finally sighed, and looked directly at Dylan. "She should not be blamed for Harper, at least. She was," he paused and his mouth quirked, "quite vehement in her objections to my actions."

I hope she punched you out, Dylan thought, but nodded calmly. "I’ll bear that in mind."

Tyr nodded again, took his leave.

"Rommie?" Dylan looked up at the ceiling. "How much of that is truth and how much total fabrication."

"Aside from his assurances that it won’t happen again, it’s all true, his readings never fluctuated. And I have a playback of Beka’s reaction when Tyr struck Harper."

He considered that. "Tell me that she hit him at least."

"She tried." Rommie’s tone was rather prim for an AI. "Unsuccessfully, I might add." 

Well. It was Tyr, after all. He sighed. "All right, let’s deal with Beka."

"I’ll have the drones bring her."

The interview with Beka was... startling. Even after their failed attempt to reach Tarn-Vedra, Beka had been reasonably self-possessed. Apologetic, but self-possessed.

It wasn’t that she sobbed abjectly--she didn’t--or that she groveled. There was a distinct lack of spirit when he confronted her.

"Is Harper all right?" was the first thing she asked, and she listened without comment to his listing of crimes and traditional penalties, only nodding occasionally, eyes downcast.

"Beka," he finally said, very softly. "What in the _hell_ were you thinking?"

Appallingly, she burst into tears; it was hard to say which of them found it more alarming.

"God, and to think I thought you were out of your mind," she finally said, when she could bring herself under control. "Listen to me." A hiccup and she finally looked directly at him. "I can’t blame, Tyr. I’ve been imagining the worst for weeks, and until--" Her mouth trembled again. "Until we did the med-scans, I couldn’t face the fact that I was in trouble, worse than you or Harper. Maybe almost as bad as Rev." Her eyes filled again.

"Beka," he said hastily. "Beka, it’s what I suspected. I know what you’re going through." 

"Oh, right, like you’re sitting around sobbing," she said acidly and wiped her eyes with her forearm. "God."

"You think I don’t? That I haven’t?" He rolled his eyes. "Think again, Beka."

She blinked at him, startled. "You?"

"I’m the captain." Dryly. "I’m not supposed to show fear or despair or self-doubt or... well, whatever." He gestured vaguely. "I understand what you’re feeling. That doesn’t excuse any of this, but I do understand." He put some steel into his voice. "Harper could have been seriously injured, particularly considering how short a period of time it’s been since he _nearly_ died."

She hiccuped and wiped at her eyes again. "I made sure that he was okay, I checked his pupils, and they both reacted normally."

"So I’m told. I don’t think that matters to him as much as the betrayal."

She hiccuped again, put her hands over her face. "I’m sorry, Dylan. That’s the best I can do. Maybe I’m the one who’s crazy, it’s beginning to look that way. I can’t even blame Tyr, he looks out for himself."

He sighed. "What recommendations did Rommie make?"

She lifted her head. Baffled. "What?"

"On your medical condition." His voice was edged. "What were her recommendations."

Beka blinked. "Oh. Well. Um, she suggested some short term medication, but after...." Embarrassed shrug. "I, ah, wasn’t in a hurry to drug myself back to health."

"Hmmm." Dylan considered that. "Before you decide, I’d like you to do some research on what she suggested. I’m not going to force you to take anything, Beka. We’ll have to start from the beginning again, and as I told Tyr, I will have your activities monitored for a nonspecific period of time. First sign of trouble, you know what will happen."

She nodded raked a hand through her hair. "I know." Unhappily. A brave attempt at a smile. "I’m surprised you aren’t putting us off now. Or shooting us out the airlock."

"Don’t tempt me," he said dryly. "I’ll put aside my rank for the moment and speak to you without it--if either of you hurt Harper again, don’t count on my civilized nature."

Beka blushed scarlet. "Oh. Right." Swallowed hard. "Do you think he’ll ever forgive me?"

"Knowing Harper? Yes. Should he?"

She blinked hard again. "I... I can’t judge that, Dylan." Her mouth trembled again. "But he forgave me for what happened before, so I think he will this time, too."

"Before?" He felt like his ears came to a point. "What did you do to him before?"

Shamefaced look. "It wasn’t what I did, it’s what I said to him. When I was doing flash."

Did he want to know? He did not. It was Harper’s business. "Never mind. You’re dismissed. Try and bear in mind that the command codes will be changed and no longer at your disposal."

She nodded again. Straightened her shoulders. "Thank you. For giving me another chance." Direct gaze, despite her clear misery.

His throat ached a little. She was proud, and she was... she was a remarkably good first officer, all things considered. "Don’t make me sorry," he warned.

"I won’t." Firmly.

"Go get some rest, Beka. And research. If you decide not to take anything, at least make sure that decision is informed."

She nodded and rose.

He waited until she was gone before putting his head in his hands and rubbing his eyes. At least he could tell Harper something positive.

He hoped Harper saw it that way.

  


* * *

Harper was in the machine shop when Beka came looking for him.

He’d dreaded this moment. He’d known that Beka’s essential honesty made it impossible to avoid.

"Seamus, I’m sorry." 

He looked up at her. Trust Beka. "Good." Flatly. "You should be."

She looked away, flushed a little. "I thought I was doing the right thing."

He shrugged. "Road to hell."

Beka laughed shortly. "Yeah, I guess." She shifted, moved around the table, examining or pretending to examine the objects strewn over the surface. "Are you okay?" Faintly.

Harper shrugged. "My head aches. At least he didn’t hit me hard enough to spring my neck."

Beka winced, put her fingers under her belt. "That wasn’t... that wasn’t planned, Harper. And I checked you over. Tyr insisted that you might, um, well, do what you did." Brief, fugitive curve of her mouth. "So he insisted on the brig, but I checked you over."

"Thanks." He meant it, but it came out dry, and she flushed again. "Look, you need to know that whatever happened between me and Dylan, it’s over. Done. That’s not why I thought you were wrong. I thought you were wrong because he’s not crazy."

She glanced away. "Yeah. I know." Bleakly. "Maybe I am. I don’t know. You were hurt so badly, Harper, and Dylan--Tyr was reassuring, at least, that uber-human physique and he healed up fast. You and Dylan, though, I was so scared. I was afraid he was going to do something nuts, go back after that _thing_. You raved about that thing, you were so scared."

He had to repress a shudder. "Look, I know Dylan goes around making friends--or trying--with the people who shoot at us, but he’s not stupid, Beka."

She brooded for a moment. "I know. I know." Wearily. "I was wrong. I accept that. I just want to know that you and I can work back from it?" 

His throat hurt. He loved her. Not in a sexual way, not necessarily--she’d found him living hand to mouth, smart-ass kids both of them, and he loved her. "We can." Hoarsely. "You know we can, Beka."

Relief lit her up from within. "Good." Eyes too bright. 

He moved toward her suddenly, and god knew, he needed a hug, he figured she needed one, too, even if they only did this once in blue moon. She hugged him hard back, and he had to blink hard. "You okay?" she whispered. "I mean, the whole Dylan thing? Want me to beat him up for you?"

That made him laugh when he would have bet that nothing could have. "Beka!"

"It’s better than mutiny." She pulled back, grinned crookedly at him. Sobered. "You need to talk about anything?"

He shrugged, blinked hard again. "Nah. I mean, it’s what I expected. He’s the captain, you know. It’s that whole ‘not with the crew’ thing." Funny, it didn’t stop hurting, it just hurt worse, no matter how much sense it made. No matter that he told himself it made sense several times a day.

"You wanna get drunk?" She saw too clearly, back to normal Beka. 

He shrugged. Tried on a grin. "Wouldn’t mind a few," he allowed.

She ruffled his hair. "Me, either. I’m buying, come on." She linked her arm with his.

What the hell. At least he’d be numb.

  


* * *

El Dorado Drift was too bright, too noisy and too gaudy for Dylan this time around. Harper, too, seemed reluctant to venture far afield.

Oddly, Tyr and Trance vanished into the ebb and flow of business and pleasure and those who sought either or both. Harper and Beka did likewise on their third day in port. Dylan chose to stay near the shipyard, watching closely as additional repairs were made. Rev Bem seemed no better or worse, but when Trance returned alone, she seemed less hopeful.

Dylan found that depressing; from what little he knew, Rev Bem was largely responsible for recovering Tyr and Harper before either had been used as a Magog host. He also knew that the violence demanded by that rescue was very like what had driven Rev to lose himself inside his own mind. 

He wondered morbidly how Harper was going to react if Rev Bem _did_ recover. He remembered rather too well having to intervene to prevent Harper from attacking Rev and vice versa. 

But those were smaller matters. He contacted the representatives of various planetary governments describing in detail what he knew, what Beka and Trance had told him, what little he had gleaned from Harper’s nightmares and Tyr’s brief dispassionate description of the little he could recall. So far, he had had little luck in impressing upon them the seriousness of the situation; most seemed to think that the Andromeda had ventured into Magog space ill-prepared and with a handful of people. 

He suspected it was more comfortable for them to think so. He did send out some discreet inquiries regarding the nature of the entity, but had not, as yet, received anything useful.

"I’m beginning to think," he told Rommie, late one night on the command deck, "that this thing may be ancient. Harper had nightmares when the data was still stored in his neural net--death and massacres." The idea gave him a superstitious chill. "The common thread."

Rommie eyed him. "So you think this entity has been around for several hundred years?"

"I hope not. I hope I’m wrong." He brooded for a moment. "I’ve got more inquiries out. I’m down to collecting legends. I’m down to tracking the last few years of Jeger’s life, and believe me, his fellows don’t want to tell me a goddamn thing." He looked at her. "I’m afraid that Tarn-Vedra might have deliberately disrupted the slipstream to protect itself."

"From the Entity?" She frowned. "That’s counter to the principles of the Commonwealth."

"I know. But things were in... disarray." He rubbed his eyes. "I’m going blind going through the database, and I still have nothing more than speculations."

"Your speculations are often accurate. If you would give me what you have been able to find, I might be able to judge whether or not these are." Rommie’s tone was dispassionate.

What was he thinking? Of course it was dispassionate. He sighed inwardly. "I’m going to talk to Harper about upgrading some of our defenses, Rommie. Times like this, I wish we could have kept some of the data that Perseid downloaded." He stood up, rubbed the small of his back. "I’m going to upgrade the Maru’s defenses and weapons capability, too. In the event."

Rommie looked at him gravely. "You’re expecting trouble."

"Oh, trouble’s coming. It may not come for a while." He didn’t tell her what else he was thinking. Didn’t tell her about his nightmares, although she knew he was still suffering them, she had to. She monitored all of them routinely, it was a part of the ship’s routines. Not that Rommie paid attention to them, the records were shunted off and not viewed unless or until it became necessary. "I need to figure out what we’re going to do for Rev. His condition is still unchanged. Trance doesn’t look hopeful." 

"There is a Wayist retreat on Ganedri for those injured or unable to care for themselves." 

"Ganedri." He thought about that. Ganedri was only one system away from Lyrs, and Lyrs was home to one of the more recent vintage stories about some entity of darkness. "I think Ganedri may very well be our next stop, once I’m satisfied with repairs and upgrades."

"Shall I calculate the routes?"

He nodded absently. "Yes, please. And Rommie, I want you to retrieve the routes your other self used to get to the Magog. I want to review the charts."

"Understood."

One of the nice things about Rommie is that Rommie wasn’t telepathic, and despite her well-integrated personality, she didn’t always read him well.

As he turned toward his quarters, he was grateful for that.

  


* * *

Nightmares and red eyes and scary thoughts, oh, my, Harper thought wearily and pulled himself out from under a console. He wasn’t sure _why_ Dylan wanted all these upgrades, but hell if he cared. It was interesting and challenging and besides, it kept him busy, too busy to think.

When he pushed himself up, Tyr was standing there on the other side, brooding at him.

It pissed him off, a flare of temper that he tried to tamp down. He hadn’t actually talked to Tyr alone since the abortive attempt to take over the ship, and had hoped to avoid it for a little longer. He didn’t need Tyr, not today, not after three nights of nasty rancid dreams. 

"Mr. Harper," Tyr said remotely. "You’ve made yourself remarkably scarce of late."

"I’ve been busy." Sullenly. 

"So I see." Tyr looked around the command deck. "How are your dreams these day?"

He flinched at that, scowled at Tyr. "They’re mine."

Tyr’s gaze rested on him, faintly puzzled. "And Dylan’s?"

That stirred his temper a little higher. "Try asking Dylan, why don’t you?"

Tyr’s eyebrows pulled together. "You shared his bed, boy, I thought perhaps you might still." Silky voice.

It triggered something in him he didn’t recognize, something he hadn’t felt in years, since before he’d joined Beka’s crew, and he hurled himself forward, swung on Tyr. Bad, bad idea, he got one punch in, and basically hit the wall, bounced back over the console and landed on his face.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Tyr’s voice was angry, but Tyr was crouched beside him. "Are we all losing our minds?"

He shoved Tyr away. "Stay the hell away from me." Angry and humiliated and the worst part was, he was in the wrong. No, the worst part was being him, easily bounced around by bigger, angrier people. 

"Let me see--" 

It took a moment of flailing before it sank in that Tyr was being regretful, trying to help him. He gave up, let himself be hauled upright. 

For once, he rather thought Tyr looked off-balance. "I reacted badly," Tyr muttered. "You had best get this seen to."

Harper’s eye was already puffing up. Hell, one side of his face was puffing up. He touched it gingerly, decided nothing was broken except his pride. And maybe Tyr was right, maybe _he_ was losing his mind. Hell, it was his turn. Dylan supposedly had, Beka and Tyr certainly had. "Fuck off." Sullenly.

"Harper," Tyr began, then stopped. Looked away.

It struck him that maybe that was a Nietzschean apology. He laughed shortly. "Just stay the hell away from me, Tyr."

After a moment, Tyr nodded.

Yeah, it was a Nietzschean apology all right, it sure as hell wasn’t fear and trembling. Harper stalked off the bridge, misery sinking in as he realized how majorly he’d just fucked up. Oh, Dylan was going to love this, fighting with another crewmember, on the command deck, and he couldn’t blame it on Tyr, he’d blown up. Sure, Tyr was an asshole, but Tyr generally was, and he usually managed to just let it slide off since he’d learned long ago that a short, slight unmodified human didn’t have many weapons against pumped up uber-human types and was likely to get killed.

Instead of med-deck, he headed for his quarters, surveyed the damage in the mirror in his bathroom. Damn, damn, damn. Even if Tyr didn’t rat him out, he looked pretty much like he felt. Like he’d hit a hard surface pretty damn hard. Maybe he could tell Dylan he got mugged on the docks, if Tyr kept his mouth shut. Which thought depressed him. 

He could have lived with lying to Dylan a year ago. Lying to Dylan now... well, call him a sentimental fool, but it seemed counterproductive.

Not that it mattered. Dylan was big on things like, oh, not trying to massacre one’s crewmates, no matter how annoying they were. At the very least, Dylan might throw him in the brig, and he could live with that. What really ripped his guts out was the knowledge that Dylan would be disappointed in him. And he hated that it did.

He really, really, really hated Nietzscheans more. Even if he knew he was the one to blame.

  


* * *

Hints and mysteries, mysteries and legends. Slamming his fist on his desk, Dylan wished vainly for a moment of clarity, of hard, cold fact. There were some who had considered the Magog a manufactured species all along, a form of biological warfare intended to kill and reproduce itself, using the enemy as hosts for the offspring. They were sentient, obviously, as Rev Bem proved; they were capable of choice, as Rev Bem also proved. 

Their space capability had always been puzzling; the drive for reproduction and violence seemed paramount, it had often seemed amazing that they’d ever reached the tool using level of evolution. And certainly, they didn’t appear to need or use weapons. This might be explained by the pieces he was assembling, but there was still no clear picture.

He wasn’t a mystic, although he was afraid he was rapidly becoming one. The recurring nightmare hadn’t stopped, only deepened; he’d never been particularly prescient, unless his hunches could be counted, but he was beginning to think he was being given both a message and a warning. The trouble was, he was used to backing his hunches with solid evidence, and at the moment, all he had was a nightmare. 

He needed more before he... before he did whatever it was that was bubbling around in the underpart of his mind. About the only thing that he knew for certain at the moment was that he wasn’t getting any assistance from any of the planetary governments already aligned with his fledgling Commonwealth, and that he would do whatever it took to keep the latter part of his nightmare from coming to pass.

He wasn’t letting anyone on his crew fall prey to the Magog again.

He wasn’t letting Harper fall prey to the Magog again.

Which led him back to the more personal problems he was battling. Hardly comparable to the fate of civilized--or even, considering the Long Night, semi-civilized--space, but when he wasn’t obsessing over his duty to the universe or how to identify and destroy the entity, he was obsessing over Harper.

Harper had been avoiding him lately. He wasn’t entirely surprised, he’d had the same urge himself, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. For one thing, he missed Harper. Which was insanity, he usually saw Harper at least once every ship’s day, but that wasn’t precisely enough. He missed the weird intimacy of sharing Harper’s quarters, never mind that for at least one third of that time, both of them had been so ill they hadn’t realized they were sharing quarters. He missed the drowsy sound of Harper’s voice talking as they wound down toward sleep. He missed being able to hear the difference between the soft sound Harper made for a pleasant dream and the thin whine that accompanied nightmares. He missed the scent of Harper’s hair and skin on the pillow beneath his cheek. And it was absurd, it wasn’t the adolescent combination of pheromones and hormones and obsession, it was something else. 

Not that he didn’t also miss the sex. In between the regularly scheduled nightmare, he frequently dreamt of it.

He missed Harper’s grin, the way Harper focused on that ridiculous game and won. 

Maybe Beka and Tyr had been right, maybe he was losing his mind. 

Despite this, he rose from his desk with the sudden determination to find Harper.

Harper wasn’t to be found, at least not easily. Harper wasn’t on command deck. Harper apparently wasn’t in his quarters. Hesitating for a moment, conscious of lines he’d drawn himself, Dylan considered privacy issues and said the hell with it. "Rommie, where’s Harper?" he asked the ship.

"In the machine shop. Do you need him?"

Did he need Harper, Dylan mused. That was a very unwise pathway to follow, he pushed the thought out of his mind. "No, that’s fine, I’ll check on him there." Check on him. Right. The least he could do was tell himself the truth. He missed Harper, hated that Harper was avoiding him, and what the hell did he think was going to happen? Harper was annoying and quirky and had the fastest mouth in the Milky Way galaxy; he was also funny, charming, brilliant, and vulnerable, far more vulnerable than he let many people see. The many sides of Harper, he thought, irritated at his own capacity for discreet mooning about. 

The machine shop was dimly lighted; frowning, Dylan stepped inside, looked around. "Harper?"

Faint sigh. "Over here."

Dylan walked to the other side of the worktable, found Harper sitting on the floor, working on one of the cleaning drones, his back toward Dylan. The nape of Harper’s neck fascinated him for a moment. He knew the taste of the soft skin there. Cleared his throat. "What are you doing?"

"Just maintenance. This one was acting a little confused." Harper didn’t turn to look at him.

And there was something about that avoidance that bothered him. He moved around to crouch beside Harper. "Are you all right?" Softly.

Harper sighed again, glanced at him. "Yeah, I’m okay."

Except that he wasn’t, one side of his face was swollen and badly bruised. Tyr, Dylan thought distantly. "What happened to your face?" It came out more harshly than he’d intended and Harper flinched slightly, shook his head. "Harper?"

Another sigh. "I fell."

"You fell." His fingers itched to touch, to turn Harper’s face toward him. "On someone’s fist?"

"No." Harper did look at him then. "I just fell, okay? No biggie."

He didn’t believe it. "Who helped you fall?" Tightly.

Harper closed his eyes briefly. "Okay, look, I, um, sort of went after Tyr, and he knocked me down. I started it, so don’t get wound up."

Dylan stared, taken aback. "You started it." A statement, not a question.

"Yeah." Flatly. Bleakly. "Sorry. Tyr pissed me off and I sort of went for him."

"You started it." He was, he admitted to himself, moderately confused as well as upset. He’d known Harper was still angry with Tyr, but Harper had faced provocation from Tyr on more than one occasion and rocked and rolled with it, as Harper was wont to say. "Why?"

"He pissed me off."

"I understand that. What did he do?"

Harper shrugged, not quite looking at him. "I told you, he pissed me off."

"So I gathered." He had to briefly resist the urge to smack Harper himself. "How?"

A long sigh. "He just made this crack, okay?"

Provocation, Dylan thought. "What. Did. He. Say?"

Harper rolled his shoulders, leaned over the drone. "It was personal, okay?"

Personal. He considered that, rubbed his chin. "You need to get that seen to." Flatly. Now he remembered why any personal involvement with Harper was such a bad idea. Dealing out discipline became more problematic, and assumptions became dangerous. "Come on, Harper, med-deck."

Harper touched the side of his face again. "Forget it, I’m okay." 

"Your dignity is going to suffer if I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you there." Tartly. "Harper, I’m not asking, I’m telling."

"Yessir, Captain, sir." Bitterly.

He sighed inwardly. His own fault. His own poor judgement. His own need. "You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you?"

Harper glared at him. "If I was gonna lie to you, I’d have said I got mugged." 

Good point. It would have been believable, given some of Beka’s more lurid stories about Harper. "No more fighting, unless you want to end up in the brig." Flatly. 

Harper blinked. Looked away from him. "Right. Okay." 

That said, he wondered again darkly if Tyr had provoked Harper deliberately, but that was merely leftover anger of his own. "Med-deck," he said again and rose. 

Harper followed him out the door.

  


* * *

The medi-drone took care of Harper’s face easily; Harper’s feelings were another matter. Harper was obviously still upset, obviously determined not to tell him, and got out of med-deck as quickly as he could, leaving Dylan no wiser than he had been when he’d decided to seek Harper out.

Tyr actually found him before he found Tyr. 

"I have had some difficulty with Harper." Bluntly. "I didn’t intend it, and he surprised me enough that I reacted automatically."

Dylan looked at him, hoped his expression was bland enough. "Surprised you?" 

"He, ah, attacked me." Tyr’s expression was surprisingly uncomfortable. "I unintentionally offended him."

Dylan waited, thinking. "Unintentionally."

Tyr frowned. "Dylan, if I had meant to offend him, I do assure you, I would have said something particularly well designed to do so. This was... clumsiness on my part."

Given Nietzschean mores, he could almost believe that. "It seems unlike Harper to attack you, Tyr." Evenly. "This must have been exceptionally clumsy."

Tyr glanced away, looked back. "Dylan, are you dreaming badly?"

The question jarred him. "What?"

"Are you dreaming badly?" Impatient tone. "I am. I believe that Rev Bem is, although it is, admittedly, hard to tell."

"He’s in a catatonic state."

"He dreams. I’ve seen his eyes move." Tyr folded his arms. "Beka indicated to me that she is dreaming badly as well--as for Trance, well, who knows. Do I take your response as a yes?"

"It isn’t that surprising." Dylan frowned. "The human mind, at least, processes traumatic events in dreams."

"Rev Bem isn’t human." Dryly.

"No, he isn’t. I wasn’t aware you were assisting Trance with his care."

"I wasn’t. I was attempting to determine whether or not I should kill him." Cool tone, but there were shadows in Tyr’s gaze.

Dylan felt chilled suddenly. "Why?"

Tyr looked away again. "I dreamt that he had asked me to."

Very chilled. "Why didn’t you?"

One corner of Tyr’s mouth turned up very slightly. "I have an aversion to vacuum."

"Ah." Well, at least self-interest had won.

"And later, I began to wonder about the source of my dreams." Tyr shrugged, gave him a narrow look. "So, I ask again, are you dreaming badly?"

"Evidently, not as badly as you." His self-discipline slipped again. "Don’t bait Harper again, Tyr."

"I didn’t intend to." Tyr frowned again. "As I said, he, ah, surprised me. He made a brave showing against the Magog--one forgets his size and weight, and I reacted without thought."

Dylan rather thought that last admission was reluctant. "You might tell him that, or failing that, apologize."

Long look. "Are you going to take action against either of us?"

"Not this time. I think he owed you one. If it happens again, you both will be escorted to the brig."

Tyr looked away. "It should not."

"I’ll hold you to that. I’ve already extracted a like promise from him." Dylan was suddenly tired. "These dreams--I take it you believe it’s possible you’re being influenced."

Tyr’s expression was troubled. "I’m aware that it seems irrational."

"Not necessarily." Dylan brooded a moment. "Very well. I’ll talk to Harper, get some details from him. You might be surprised at how my view of what’s rational and irrational has shifted since our recent experience with the Magog."

Tyr, oddly, looked relieved. "Good. It may be nothing other than what you yourself have mentioned, the natural result of... a near death experience."

"It may be." Dylan thought of what they had seen on the download file, thought of the unsettling hints he’d found in old legends, in the few bits and pieces of evidence he had. "Or not." He rubbed his eyes. "I’m off-shift now, if you think of anything else, I’ll be in my quarters."

Tyr nodded, let him step past. 

Dreams, Dylan thought. Dreams and phantoms and legends. He was chasing will o’ the wisps, and it was small wonder he had no luck convincing the diplomats that there was something very bad heading their way.

He needed hard evidence and felt like he was clutching at mist.

  


* * *

Harper had hoped to be able to make it to his quarters on the Maru without running into anyone. Unfortunately, he literally collided with Beka, who laughed, steadied herself and then peered at his face, all her mirth gone.

"You’ve been brawling again. Harper, I thought you weren’t going to go out looking for trouble."

"I didn’t exactly." He tried on a grin. "I stayed here and went looking for trouble."

Her expression darkened. "Tyr."

"Wasn’t his fault." If she knew just how hard it was to admit that, he thought distantly. "I sorta blew up. I’m okay, Beka, it won’t happen again."

After a minute, she nodded, still grim. "Seamus, you want to talk?"

This time, his grin was more genuine, if a little twisted. "Not only no."

She didn’t like that, but he saw her let go anyway. "If you do, you know where to find me."

"Thanks, boss." One more grin, but it vanished as soon as he was in his quarters. Then and only then, did he wonder why Tyr had asked him about dreams; it was an odd question for Tyr in specific and Nietzscheans in general. If he hadn’t been so pissed off, he might have realized it then, but Tyr’s suggestion that he was still warming Dylan’s bed had stung in more ways than one.

He wished.

For one thing, when he and Dylan had been sharing quarters, his nightmares hadn’t been as frequent. Oh, he might have them, but waking to hear the sound of Dylan’s slow, regular breathing had let him go back to sleep. Or Dylan would wake him up if it was a bad one, just a pat on the shoulder, or later, a warm body against his. The low, soothing sound of Dylan talking before he went to sleep sometimes prevented the damn things altogether.

And if that wasn’t the lamest, most humiliating thing, he sure couldn’t think of another. It was like somehow, within the space of a few short weeks, Dylan had become a fucking security blanket. Or more.

Maybe Beka was right, he needed to take some down time, go out and party hearty, find himself a nice, wild one night stand to rip the clothes off him and fuck him silly. Get him over the what-might-have-beens, get him over the what-never-will-bes.

Trouble was, he had already known better than to let those feelings get the better of him, and they were getting the better of him anyway. What-might-have been had him on the mat, and what-never-will-be was getting ready to kick his ass.

The absurdity of that thought, oddly, cheered him up enough to let him sleep. At least until the Magog returned to his dreams.

  


* * *

Crouching beside the bed in which Rev Bem lay, Dylan sighed, rubbed his forehead. Wiser heads than his had pondered the origin and nature of the Magog and come up with nothing. If Rev knew anything--if Rev knew anything, Dylan supposed that Rev would have told them, would tell them. The trouble was, Rev might not realize that it was important, and Rev was in a difficult position, caught between rejecting the Magog way of life and any identification he might have with his own species.

And here Dylan was, a representative of the Commonwealth, a career officer in the High Guard, sworn to uphold the ideals of the Commonwealth, and considering the elimination of a sentient species, artificially engineered or not. "Rev," he whispered, "I need your help. I need your advice."

Rev Bem didn’t stir. 

Dylan brooded, considering. He didn’t know if the Magog had an oral history, the only history Rev had ever given was his own, quiet discussions on the obs deck late at night. In any event, the only real thing Rev could have given him was what little he, an outcast in the eye of the Magog, could have given Dylan. He certainly couldn’t have provided justification for what Dylan thought might well be necessary.

Genocide.

It was an ugly word for a more than ugly deed. The systematic destruction of a people, of a species. And it was ironic that he was the one considering it. "Rev," he breathed and closed his eyes. The ramifications were ugly, too. He would be the worst of all war criminals. But he was giving himself far too much credit--he couldn’t hope to eliminate all the Magog. One ship, no matter how fine and well equipped, was hardly capable of that. Eliminating the entity, however, in its nest of Magog worlds was a start. Which meant, of necessity, destroying those worlds. He had the power to do that, even if it was, essentially, suicide.

He had no right to choose that for the rest of his crew. Had no right to choose that for any of them. The images of his nightmare returned, and he closed his eyes, willing them away: Trance playing what he had come to think of as the god game, sending them one by one as sacrifices to the ultimate victory; Rev and Tyr and Beka vanishing into the darkness of the entity; Harper screaming in agony, his eyes fixed on Dylan, begging wordlessly for help.

No. He couldn’t choose that for him. If it had to be done, he was the one to do it. He was the only one. He refused to play the god game, refused to sacrifice his pieces for the victory. No matter what the Trance in his dream insisted.

The only decisions left were what to do and how to do it.

  


* * *

"You want to upgrade the Maru." Beka was staring at Dylan as if he’d suddenly grown another head or set of appendages. 

"Yes." He rested his chin on his hand, smiled at her reassuringly.

"Dylan, you’ve never allowed us to do anything with... personal effects on the Andromeda." She sounded irritated and worried at the same time. "Why now?"

"Why not now?" he countered. "You saw how vulnerable even Andromeda was to that kind of overwhelming attack. I think the only thing that saved your ship was the fact that no one was aboard and she was in the hangar bay. The fact is, if we’re ever that damaged again, the Maru may be all that saves us. As she did this time." Dryly. "I think upgrading her is a good idea. Of course, she’s your ship, Beka, if you think I’m out of line--" Vague gesture, even though he was determined to do it anyway. Better for Beka to think it was partly her own idea.

She studied him, began to smile. "Out of line, maybe. But I approve, I approve. What did you have in mind?"

He let one corner of his mouth lift. "You don’t mind me suggesting?"

She grinned outright. "Not in the least. I can always veto."

That made him laugh in spite of his mood. "I’d suggest a few more creature comforts, frankly, but let’s focus on armament and defense first."

"Creature comforts." Beka grinned again. "Not quite what you’re used to on Andromeda."

He made a small sound in his throat, neither agreement nor disagreement. "Let’s just say different. Oh, and medical, we’ll want to cannibalize a little from the med-deck supplies. I want the Maru well supplied in the event it becomes necessary. First step is to figure out what we’ve got that can actually make us some money."

"I’ll dragoon Harper and Tyr and we’ll start inventory." Beka stood up. "Is there anything you don’t want us to include?"

Rather more delicacy than he’d have expected from her at this point. He smiled faintly. "Hydroponics, sports, my quarters."

"Gotcha." She moved toward the door, doubtless already calculating and recalculating.

"Beka," he said, driven to it against his will. "Keep an eye on Harper, will you?"

That got him an entirely unreadable look. "Of course." Evenly. 

He felt guilt and annoyance in equal measure. "I’m worried about him. I’m worried about all of us. But you seem to be doing much better, and he seems to be doing worse. He evidently picked a fight with Tyr." Beka undoubtedly knew about it already, he wasn’t giving anything away.

Standing the doorway, Beka narrowed her eyes. "Knowing Tyr, I’m not so sure."

"Exactly. Which is a little unlike Tyr, no matter how you look at it." He saw her consider that. "I may be jumping at shadows, but I’d rather be safe than sorry, and you see Harper more often during the course of a day than I do."

Another unreadable look, but she nodded. "Will do."

"Thank you."

Sudden grin, almost feral. "Nope, thank _you_." And she was gone.

  


* * *

Work was the antidote to what ailed him, Harper decided, gleefully surveying the shipping containers of parts. And Beka had just given him a huge dose of it. "I can’t believe he let you do this!"

Beka grinned at him. "Let me, hell, it was his idea."

"Jeez, new sensor array, new weapons... good stuff." Harper dove into another container happily. "And he’s got me doing some stuff in the machine shop, some of that fancy High Guard defensive stuff to install on the Maru." Sly grin. "Not to mention upgrading the engines considerably."

She whooped, grinned. "Oh, yeah. Fastest, deadliest salvage and shipping vessel in this quadrant. Need something bonded to go out? Just call Valentine and Associates."

Some of his delight faded. "You planning on quitting?"

She glanced at him. "What? Oh, no, just call it a side operation." Then, pensive, she studied him. "Dylan’s been acting a little weird lately. I wonder if he’s not rethinking this whole crazy quest."

He hoped not. Dylan without his ideals and hopes wasn’t--wasn’t Dylan. It was nuts to think so, he’d never expected it to work anyway, but hell, a soft berth, lots of nifty toys to play with, he was glad to go along for the ride. Beka had been good to him, but he’d never have gotten the chance to learn what he’d learned or work with the kinds of things he’d dreamt about, back when getting off Earth was just another pipe dream. "Maybe." Subdued now.

She settled a companionable arm over his shoulders. "Harper, you’ve got it bad." 

He jerked away, suddenly angry. "Why? Just because I like him? Because I’d feel bad if all this wrecked what he thought was right?"

Her eyes were wide and startled. "Hey, easy, it’s me here, remember?"

He turned away, bit his lip. "Yeah. Sorry."

"Tyr been at you?" Her voice shifted back to Captain Valentine in really pissed off mode.

"Not lately." He snarled it. "Just leave it be, okay? I’m fine, Tyr’s fine, we’re all fine, la la la, except for Rev." He shuddered then, he couldn’t help it. Rev... Rev was Rev, but even just looking in on him gave Harper the creeps. He’d gone to Rev’s quarters late one ship’s night, just to see if he could handle it. Just to see if he could remember it was Rev inside the Magog flesh, Rev who had somehow managed to get into that swarm of his fellow Magog and get both Harper and Tyr. He couldn’t remember fuck all about _that_ , but he could still remember what it had felt like to be paralyzed, staring up at that _thing_.

"Harper--do you want me to talk to him?"

He turned to look at her, baffled. "Tyr?"

"Dylan," she said patiently.

His jaw dropped momentarily. "Are you _insane_?" 

Her mouth quivered suspiciously. "Not that I know of."

The very idea gave him the cold horrors. "Don’t _even_ go there, Beka. Not even in your wildest fantasies. God, I think I just got sick to my stomach."

"Okay, okay, okay." She held up her hands in surrender. "I just thought I’d offer."

"What are you going to do, hold a _gun_ to his head?" He shuddered. "He done me wrong? Beka, please, I’m a big boy, I can dress myself, brush my teeth, take a piss--"

"Harper." Warningly.

"Just no. Okay?" He found he was sweating at the thought. Wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "No. No. No."

"I get it, okay?" She sounded both amused and annoyed at the same time. 

Good. That meant she wouldn’t, that it hadn’t really been a serious suggestion. His knees felt rubbery with relief. "I mean, I appreciate your concern and all that, but jeez. What were you going to do, hold a gun to his head and say, ‘fuck Harper or else’?"

She tried to look offended and succeeded only in smothering her laughter. "There’s a thought. No, I just thought I’d talk to him about not avoiding you."

"He’s not, I’m avoiding him." He shuddered again. "Go away and let me work."

"Okay." She grinned at him. "Sorry."

He pointed. She went.

  


* * *

The upgrades, Dylan decided, were going well. Between the machine shop, the raw materials and components purchased with the proceeds of the looting of the crews’ quarters, both Andromeda and the Maru had fared well. Harper was scarce, but evidently happy; on the few occasions Dylan encountered him, Harper reported cheerfully on the status of the work.

Trance, on the other hand, seemed more and more worried. About what, she either would not or could not say. Rev, perhaps, or perhaps not. Dylan’s nightmares had left him uneasy about Trance--was she an avatar, guiding their movements, or was she was simply Trance, no more and no less an enigma?

He didn’t know. But when the repairs were complete, and the upgrades down to what Harper could finish himself, Dylan set a course for Ganedri.

He’d taken to visiting Rev Bem when his dreams would not let him sleep, had been careful to avoid Trance. Rev had remained in the same catatonic state, tubes inserted here and there in his body. En route to Ganedri, he woke and went to Rev’s quarters. Crouched beside the bed again, wishing he could read Rev’s thoughts, wondering if Rev Bem dreamed in this state, if that’s what kept him there, just as he had so many other nights.

This night, however, was different. Rev’s eyes opened.

Dylan jerked back, startled, then leaned forward cautiously. "Rev?"

A low growl. "Go away, Dylan." Rusty voice, barely audible.

He looked wildly around the small cabin, found a pitcher of water near the bed. "Rev, dammit, you can’t hide from what happened." He should call Trance, should call someone, but he poured water into a cup, tried to hold it to Rev’s lips.

"Leave me alone." Rev turned away from it. "Let me die in peace."

His heart, absurdly, was hammering. "Rev--remember the Way, life is the gift of the Divine."

Rev made a sound. It took Dylan a moment to recognize it as bitter laughter. "The Way?" Rev coughed. "The Way is not for such as I. I was wrong. Not everything was created by the Divine."

"Rev, what did you learn?" He leaned a little closer. "Rev, I need to know."

"I cannot help you. All you need to know is that my people were created to destroy. And in that destruction, to breed, and spread further destruction. An endless cycle of waste and death." Rev’s eyes closed again.

He risked touching Rev. "Rev, what _is_ that thing?"

A sigh, almost too faint to be heard. "It is that which created the Magog. It is our god, the antithesis of the Divine. Now go away, let me die."

"Rev, I need to know!" He shook at Rev, but Rev would not answer, would not open his eyes again, would not respond at all.

"Dylan?" Trance’s voice.

He turned to look at her, rose to his feet. "How long has he been responsive?" Through clenched teeth. "Dammit, Trance, how long?"

Trance flinched a little, gazed up at him. "Um, Dylan, he hasn’t been. He’s been just like that."

He glanced back at Rev, still in the same position, no sign that he had been awake and aware. "He spoke to me."

"He did?" Trance’s eyes went to the monitor. "Just now?"

"Just now." He snarled it. 

"What did he say?"

Dylan snorted. "It wasn’t important. Trance, I want him moved to med-deck so Rommie can help you monitor him."

She nodded, obviously still a little baffled. "But why, Dylan?"

"It’s only wisdom." He held her gaze for a moment. "And much easier on you."

Trance nodded, her expression baffled.

He wished he was certain that bafflement was real. He nodded shortly at her and left, heart still thumping.

  


* * *

Tyr found him on the obs deck. "You’ve moved Rev Bem to med-deck." A statement, not a question. "Was there a particular reason?"

Dylan didn’t look at him. "The medi-drones are better able to maintain around the clock care."

Tyr sat down beside him. "You think he knows something."

That made him smile faintly, bitterly. "I think he does, yes. He has been awake and aware, he spoke to me. He wants to die."

"He spoke to you?" Tyr’s voice was honestly surprised.

"He did." Dylan was suddenly exhausted. "He told me that the entity had created the Magog specifically for destruction."

"Thus confirming one opinion. He may only believe it to be so, it may not be fact." But Tyr’s voice was doubtful.

"I’m aware of that. It’s been a point of debate among those who have attempted to study the Magog."

They sat in silence for a time. 

"I trust you will attempt no premature action." Tyr’s voice was somber.

"I think that’s a safe assumption," Dylan told him dryly. "A good commander doesn’t go blindly into a situation."

Tyr nodded, rose again. "It isn’t that I disagree with your conclusions. It’s your methodology that concerns me."

"Trust me, I have no intention of risking lives needlessly." He said it dryly, was amused to see Tyr accept the comment at face value. Built-in perceptions, he thought, they all saw the universe through built-in perceptions. The path that was looking more and more like the one he must take was one that Tyr would never see.

Which made it that much more likely that he would succeed.

  


* * *

Ganedri was nice, even if the reason they were there was depressing. Harper made the rounds of the marketplace, buying a few things here and there. Whether or not he liked thinking about it, there was a comfortable familiarity about being planetside; there were comforting differences, as well.

No Nietzscheans, for one thing. And certainly no Magog. Well, Rev Bem and presumably some of the other Wayists, but he could deal with them, at least theoretically.

Children ran and played in the sunshine, the sound of their laughter and joyous screams a far cry from what he remembered of his childhood. There were no darkened alleys ripe with rotting garbage and rats, no children with wary faces and eyes that had seen the worst that either humanity or Magog could offer. He wondered if Earth had ever been like Ganedri, before the coming of the Nietzscheans and the Magog. In some places, he thought it must have been, old vids suggested as much. But there had been other things, too, things that had been in the Perseid librarian’s download to his neural net, nightmarish things that equaled some of the things he’d seen in real life.

Trance found him under a salubra tree in the middle of the marketplace, eating fresh n’atri and watching a band of schoolchildren playing some incomprehensible game involving a ball and sticks and a lot of running.

She sat down next to him. "Dylan told me to find you." 

He looked at her, saw sadness. "Okay," he said mildly. "You all right?" He held out a slice of n’atri.

She accepted, bit delicately into it. "I’m just sad." 

He wished he was. Wished he knew how to feel about Rev. Too many damn nightmares, even if he knew that Rev was Rev and not one of the Magog who populated them. "I know." 

"Still, if he spoke to Dylan, that means he’s not gone all the way." Trance sighed, took another bite. "These are good, what are they?"

He told her, got up and held out a hand. "Did the retreat seem okay?" Guiltily.

"Oh, it’s lovely. If anyone can bring him back, I think that they can." Trance smiled, some of the sadness easing from her expression. "I know it’s hard for you right now, Harper."

Startled, he blinked, tugged her to her feet. "Huh?"

"Thinking about Rev." 

He flushed. "Yeah."

"And the whole thing with Dylan, too."

He stumbled, caught himself, gazed at Trance in alarm. "What?"

She gave him a kind smile. "It’s all right, Harper, I haven’t told anyone."

He sighed, rubbed his chin. "Believe me, Trance, you don’t have to worry about it. Tyr figured it out, told Beka, and nobody seems to believe me that it’s over."

"Mmmm." Trance made a noncommittal sound. "Well, anyway, I know that it’s hard for you." She slipped her arm through his. 

Abruptly, his eyes burned. "You have no idea." Heartfelt.

She squeezed his hand, gave him a sober look. "I know."

Thankfully, she let it go then, but he was depressed again. He wasn’t alone in that; both Beka and Dylan were silent and subdued.

That only depressed him more; he headed for the machine shop when they returned to Andromeda, busied himself with work. Busy work, mostly, standard maintenance tasks on a variety of drones, and he was so absorbed in that and the music in his earphones that he nearly jumped out of his skin when someone touched his shoulder.

Tyr stood there, frowning.

Harper took off his earphones. "Jeez, Tyr, you mind _not_ trying to give me a heart attack?"

"If I’d meant to give you a heart attack, you’d have had one." But Tyr’s mouth twitched. "Did our beneficent captain mention to any of you precisely _why_ we’re en route to Lyrs?"

Harper scowled. "Right, like he tells me anything more than he tells you. Talk to Beka."

"I did. She doesn’t know either." Tyr frowned at him. "It really _is_ finished between the two of you, then."

"I told you that. What part of it did you not get?" He snarled it. Damned if he was going to back down. He might not be stupid enough to try physical again, but attitude was an entirely different matter.

Long unreadable look. "My apologies, then." 

Harper’s jaw wanted to drop. He swallowed hard instead, watched in amazement as Tyr turned on his heel and walked out.

Maybe they were all losing their minds. Or something.

The hell with work, he was going to get drunk.

  


* * *

Despite Tyr’s tone, Dylan kept his own mild. Tyr had come to the command deck to confront him. "There is a Zensunni monastery on Lyrs that contains a number of records of galactic events since the fall. I need to consult some of those records." 

"You’ve said nothing of this to Beka." Tyr was regarding him narrowly.

"Tyr, don’t press your luck with me. It’s a personal matter, and at the present, we’re still not ready to begin work again. Completely aside from the fact that I don’t _need_ to explain myself to either of you."

Tyr had the grace to glance away. "I was merely curious."

"Ah." Dylan arched an eyebrow. "I trust your curiosity is satisfied."

Tyr nodded. "Yes, thank you--"

"Dylan!" Beka sounded and looked harried. "Dylan, we’ve got a problem."

He turned to look at her. "What kind of problem?"

"A Harper problem. He’s drunk and in an access tube, and singing."

It really was very wrong of him, but he couldn’t help laughing. "And this is a problem because?"

"He’s trying to pipe it throughout the ship." Beka’s mouth quirked.

"That’s a problem," Tyr said mildly. "Where is he?"

"I told you, in an access tube. Rommie can show you the ship’s schematic."

Dylan rubbed his face, trying to keep from laughing again. "Rommie, put it onscreen."

The schematic appeared on the viewscreen with a flashing dot where Harper had holed up. 

"Harper may not be that big, but I do _not_ have the heft to haul him out of there." Beka sounded irritated. "Which is probably why he’s in there."

"I’m not volunteering." Tyr sounded mildly amused anyway. "I’ve already had my encounter with Mr. Harper, and I’m not sure his temper is going to be any better when he’s drunk."

Which left Trance, who also lacked, as Beka said, the heft, and himself. Dylan eyed them both. "I’ll get him." But some of his amusement had faded. "Any idea what led to this?"

Beka shrugged. "Who knows."

He sighed inwardly, took note of the location. "All right. Beka, get his quarters ready for him, I’ll have him there shortly."

"He’s been sleeping on the Maru." Beka gave him a bland look. "Take him there."

"The hell." He checked the location again. "I might have the heft, but if you think I’m going to carry him all the way to the hangar bay--"

Beka grinned suddenly. "Good point. Okay, I’ll make sure you don’t trip going in."

  


* * *

Harper was loud, if not particularly tuneful. At least, Dylan thought, he wasn’t an aggressive, unpleasant drunk; if the worst thing he did was sing, they were undoubtedly fortunate. He reached Harper’s lair very quickly and Harper stopped singing, stared at him.

"What’re you doin’ here?"

"The party," he said quellingly, "is over."

Harper frowned. "I wasn’t hurtin’ anybody."

"I beg to differ. Beka’s afraid of your singing." He held out a hand for the bottle. "Give."

Harper scowled and replaced the bottlecap. "It’s mine. And I’m not hurtin’ anybody."

He really didn’t want to turn a harmless, singing drunk into a truculent drunk. "All right," he agreed. "But come on, let’s get you to your quarters."

"‘M not that drunk." Harper sounded defensive. "Why’s everybody on my case?"

"I’m not on your case, Harper, I just want you in your quarters, not the access tube."

"Fine." Harper gestured. "I’ll go." Sulkily. "You’re in my way."

Dylan obligingly moved aside, and Harper moved toward the access hatch, a lot more gracefully than Dylan could, given the difference in their sizes. He followed, and when he emerged, Harper was already walking unsteadily in the general direction of the hangar bay. 

He followed, caught up with longer strides, and Harper gave him an owlish look. "‘M okay." 

"I know that." He put out a hand and Harper ducked it, edged away. It felt like a blow to the gut. "Harper?"

"I don’t need a keeper." Sullenly.

Maybe that was all it was. Dylan swallowed hard. "I know that. I’m concerned about you."

Some of the sullenness lifted. "Toldja, ‘m okay, just a little drunk. Damn depressin’, that’s all. Rev’s all fucked up and he saved us, and I can’t stan’ to look at him cuz he reminds me of the rest of ‘em, and nobody believes me when I tell ‘em stuff, and fuckin’ Tyr finally gets it and apologizes." Harper shook his head, put a hand out to steady himself. "Crazy. Crazy shit."

Dylan stared, coughed. "Harper, are you all right?"

Bright smile, too bright. "‘Course! I’m great, just the greatest."

He wondered if that was true. "Do you mind if I at least walk you to the hangar bay?"

Harper appeared to consider that, turned in place. "Better go to my quarters here." Reluctant tone. "See, just a few doors down from here, I think."

"Well, just past the corner, anyway." Dylan started to reach out, stopped himself. "So, do you mind if I at least walk you to the door?"

Harper sighed. "Guess not."

The reluctance hurt, too. But he had a responsibility, if nothing else, to make sure Harper made it safely to his quarters. He wasn’t sure his personal need to do so counted.

But wasn’t that the heart of his problem with Harper anyway?

  


* * *

Lyrs was little more than a rock, a planet ripped to barren wasteland by some long ago disaster or war. Its sole claim to economic contribution was the riches of mineral ores left as part of the aftermath of whatever had happened, and most of its small population earned a living either in the mines or fishing. The monastery sat on the edge of the southern sea, 

The abbot was human, an elderly man with a face as unlined and serene as someone less than half his age. 

"We have heard of this, yes," he told Dylan gravely, after having heard him out. "Of old it has been in legend, and not just human legends. The Vedrans call it the Dragon. Other cultures have similar legends."

"What _is_ it?"

The abbot made a gesture, long fine-boned hands moving vaguely. "Who can say? I can show you the ancient texts, but some things must remain a mystery by their very nature."

That wasn’t at all helpful. "Perhaps I could see the texts?" he suggested wearily. "To gain some insight."

The abbot nodded and rose from his cushion, led Dylan down several corridors to what appeared to be an eclectic combination of data and text library. There were several monks studying and the faint scent of incense threaded through the stacks and the carrels as Dylan followed the abbot. The incense left him with the sense of sacred space, and the silence was... oddly soothing.

Leading him to a carrel, the abbot gestured at the shelves just beyond. "Much has been transferred to data crystal, but there are still a few things that we have left in their original form. Please feel free to use whatever you wish. If you like, I will have tea and sustenance brought when we take our midday meal."

"That’s very kind, Ser," Dylan told him sincerely. 

The abbot bowed. "May you find what you seek, Dylan Hunt." 

He devoutly hoped someone was listening.

  


* * *

"So what the heck is he doing at the monastery anyway?" Harper asked irritably. Something was making him very, very, very itchy, and he couldn’t determine what it was. Looking through the obs port at Lyrs only made it stronger. "Do _you_ know?"

"Nope." Beka frowned and sat down next to Harper. "He said he was going to see if there was any more information on that thing in some of their texts, but he’s been gone for hours."

"And you haven’t heard from him?" Harper twitched, tried to sit still. "He went down alone and you haven’t heard from him?"

"Rommie has, Harper." 

The kindness in her voice made him twitch again. It depressed him, too. "Okay. It’s just he has a way of--"

"Getting into trouble at the least likely moments," Beka agreed. "I know. Don’t worry, I’ve got her monitoring him."

Harper nodded. "Good, good." Got up. "Well, enough break time, I’ve got a few things to finish up before I crash. Want to get everything in order before we take some leave."

"Heaven’s Edge," Beka agreed, staring out at Lyrs. "I do wish I understood why he thinks we should take a few days off when he’s been driving himself and us this hard."

Harper stood, looked at her sidelong. "That’s probably why." Obliquely. "See ya later, Beka. Um. Let me know when he gets back?" Okay, he was pathetic, it was really and truly official now.

Another kind smile. "I will. Finish up and then get some rest, Harper. You look like hell lately."

"I thought I looked like hell most of the time."

She pretended to throw a punch at him, which at least had the virtue of making him smile. 

At least until he was out in the corridor again.

  


* * *

Heartsick, Dylan turned off the data reader and rested his face in his hands. A sacrifice. Always, always, always, the defeat of the mythical--or not so mythical--thing was a sacrifice.

Well, he’d suspected, feared, and now he knew. 

"Did you find what you sought?" the abbot wanted to know, while accompanying him back to the monastery gate. 

"I think so." He managed a polite smile and a bow. "I thank you for your hospitality."

The abbot bowed in return, put a hand on Dylan’s chest over his heart. "I shall pray that the answers serve you," he told Dylan softly.

Dylan swallowed hard. "Thank you." And while you’re at it, he thought and turned toward the Maru, pray for _me_ , that I manage to pull this off.

By the time he reached the Maru, he had prepared an answer for Beka, who was sure to ask him what he’d discovered. "More legends," he told her, not bothering to hide his exhaustion. "More stories, more myths, and not a goddamn useful bit of information among them."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I’m going to hammer at our fledgling Commonwealth until I get through some thick heads," he told her grimly. "What else can I do?"

Beka studied him. "You look tired. I’ve been lazing today, I’ll take this shift. Heaven’s Edge still our destination?"

He managed a faint smile. "I think we’ve earned it, don’t you?"

Her gaze was sharp, sometimes too sharp. But Beka was worn down, too, and after one searching look, she nodded. "And how. Get some rest, Dylan."

"Count on it."

  


* * *

Harper woke from a sound sleep to find the ship had gone to slipstream. Still befuddled, he rolled out of bed, pulled on a pair of pants and his boots; how long had he slept, he wondered, and why the hell hadn’t anyone called him. He hoped Dylan wasn’t ticked off, he really, really didn’t need Dylan to snark at him. The way he felt, he’d burst into tears like a damn kid.

He didn’t need Beka to snark at him, either, but he was used to her.

He ran the last few corridors, had to pause to brace himself on a handrail as the ship left slipstream, then skidded around the corner onto command deck. "Sorry, boss," he began, but there was no one on the command deck but Dylan.

Who turned to look at him with something that looked like shock and horror. "What are you doing here?"

More confused than ever, Harper took a step forward. "Where is everybody?"

Abruptly, Dylan unsnapped the belts, stood up. "Harper, what the _hell_ are you doing here? I told you to take leave, you said you were going."

Dylan’s expression was... well, a little bit frightening. Dylan had gone as pale as chalk, and his eyes glittered. 

"Um. I didn’t feel like it, I just went to bed." Harper thought better of stepping forward, took a step back. "Where is everybody?"

"They’re where they’re supposed to be, back at Heaven’s Edge." Dylan moved forward, sprang as Harper turned to run. Dylan’s hand caught his collar, the shirt stretched, didn’t give, and then Dylan had hold of him, grip like iron on his upper arms.

"What are you doing?" He was abruptly terrified. "Dylan, what’s wrong with you?"

"Nothing." Dylan’s voice was even more frightening: gentle, regretful, even affectionate. "I’m sorry, Harper, I don’t want to hurt you. Come on."

"Where?" He tried to twist free, yelped as Dylan’s fingers dug into muscle, pressed against bone.

"I’m sorry." Dylan honestly sounded sorry. "I’ve got to put you in the brig, Harper, until I can figure out what to do with you. You can’t go with me."

Okay. Okay. Deep breath, he could humour Dylan, he could. "The brig."

"I’m afraid so." 

Deep breath again, stay calm, and he tried, god, he tried. "Why is everybody still back at Heaven’s Edge?"

"It’s not important." Dylan practically frogmarched him down the corridor. "I’m sorry, Harper, you haven’t done anything wrong, you just can’t be here."

"Why not?" He had to stretch to keep up with Dylan’s strides. "Dylan, what’s going on?" Trying to stay calm, god, where _was_ everybody. "Did you throw them off the ship or something? Where are we?"

"That’s not important. What is important is finding someplace safe to send you." Dylan’s voice was abruptly tight. "Dammit, why didn’t you go onstation?"

"I didn’t feel like it!" He tried to twist free, and Dylan cuffed him hard enough to make his ears ring.

"Harper, stop it. I don’t want to hurt you!" Almost a growl.

For a second, while his head spun, he briefly entertained the fantasy that this wasn’t Dylan. Or that something had taken Dylan over. Or.... "Hey, that hurt!" Weakly.

Dylan’s mouth twisted. "Harper, I don’t want--come on." 

He was almost dragged along, managed to clear his head when Dylan stopped to enter the security code for the cell. Tried to break away again while Dylan only had one hand on him, but, dammit, Dylan was fast, Dylan spun him around, pushed him into the cell.

He bounced back, threw himself at Dylan as he had once throw himself at Tyr. It had about as much effect, but at least Dylan didn’t throw him face down on the floor, oh, no, Dylan merely leaned over and planted a shoulder in Harper’s belly, robbing him of the ability to breathe.

He tried to drag air into his lungs, but couldn’t. Dylan lifted him, laid him on the bunk. "Easy, Harper." Softly. 

Something cold went around his wrists. Oh, shit. 

"Breathe, Harper." Soft voice, still. Bizarrely, Dylan’s hand cupped his face; Dylan’s expression was intent and worried. "Dammit, I told you, I didn’t want to hurt you."

He dragged air in. "‘M okay, lost my breath." It was beginning to feel like he’d fallen down the rabbit hole or something, from the kid’s story. Dylan’s face was too close to his and Dylan’s breath was warm on his face, and he was securely cuffed and held down and he ought to be scared.

He was, but not for the sane reasons.

"Deep breath." Dylan’s fingers stroked his cheekbone. "That’s the way." 

He was still trembling. "What the hell is going on, Dylan? Why the _hell_ did you leave everybody at Heaven’s Edge?"

"You were supposed to be there, too." Dylan’s hand withdrew and Dylan scowled at him. "I took an oath when I joined the High Guard and I take my oath seriously. There’s something I have to do."

"Like we haven’t followed you into trouble before?" He was really getting scared now. Dylan and that damned oath. "Why leave us behind?"

Dylan sat up straight, turned and looked at the far wall, his expression remote. "It isn’t your responsibility."

Oh, yeah, he was definitely terrified. "Oh, god, you’re going back there, aren’t you! Dylan, are you insane? We barely made it out alive!"

"I don’t have a choice." Dylan stood up suddenly. "I’ve got to get you off this ship, Harper. Rommie’s calculating drift patterns, I’m putting you into an escape pod."

His heart was thumping too hard. "Dylan, you can’t, it’s suicide."

Dylan stopped at the door of the security cell. Didn’t look at him. "It has to be done. That thing--" He turned suddenly, came back to crouch near the bunk. "Harper, that thing has been around for millennia. The Perseids may be right when they blame the humans for the fall of the Commonwealth--whatever it is, I think it came into space with us. I think...." He rubbed his forehead wearily. "I don’t know what it is. I don’t know for certain that I can destroy it. I only know that I have to try. Even if I only destroy the Magog, it will buy the systems more time."

Listening to Dylan talk casually about genocide was... surreal, at best. Horrifying at worst. Harper squirmed so he could look directly at Dylan. "Do you hear yourself? Dylan, this isn’t you." Forcing himself to calm, even though... even though he wanted to rage, to scream. Dylan might as well hold a gun to his head and pull the trigger, and Dylan... if it was in the name of the fucking oath, Dylan might well do just that.

Sad smile. "I know. It’s used the Magog for three hundred years. They aren’t blameless, but they were as influenced as ever humans were." He reached out, touched Harper’s face again. "I’m sorry. But you’ll be safe in the pod. Someone will pick you up, you can get back to the Maru."

Dylan, Dylan, Dylan. He was sweating, felt a drop slide down the side of his face into his hair. "Out here? Dylan, these aren’t active shipping lanes, it could be months, you’re killing me!"

"Harper, the pods are built for more than one, we have enough allowance to make sure you have plenty of supplies, plenty of oxygen. Rommie’s adjusting the recycler, you won’t have any problem." Dylan touched his face again. "Harper, you can’t really believe I’d let you die."

There was something in Dylan’s tone that made his eyes burn. "Dylan, it could still be too long, you’re throwing me out in the middle of space. You’ve gotta take me back."

Dylan sighed, rubbed his forehead. "Harper, I can’t do that. I don’t want any of you involved in this, and you know how stubborn Beka is. She wouldn’t leave me the first time we faced this. That can’t happen this time."

He looked into Dylan’s eyes and saw a calm acceptance of death. It rocked him, terrified him. "Dylan," he begged, "Please don’t do this. We’re too far out, I’ll run out of food or water or air, and no one will find me."

"No, Harper, that won’t happen. That’s why I’m having Rommie check the drift patterns and traffic." Dylan leaned in, thumb stroking Harper’s cheekbone. "You’ve got to trust me, Harper."

Trust him, trust him to get himself killed and killed nastily. "Please, Dylan." Desperately. "Don’t do this. Don’t do this."

"I have to." Softly. Astonishingly sane for someone hell-bent on suicide. "I don’t belong here, this isn’t my time, and I’m the one who took the oath, I’m the one who put the evidence together. It’s my responsibility, Harper, I can’t ignore it, can’t pretend I don’t see the picture, no matter how much I’d rather."

That was a positive note, maybe. Maybe it was just that demon Duty, and not a real death wish. Harper swallowed hard, turned his face into Dylan’s touch. "Please." Trying to gather his thoughts, trying to piece together a valid argument. "Please, Dylan, don’t do this, at least not alone."

"I’m not going to take anyone else with me." Shockingly, Dylan leaned in and kissed him. A friend’s kiss, a lover’s kiss, sweet and slow. Drew back. "I have to get the pod ready, Harper."

He panicked again. "Dylan, wait, there’s gotta be another way. Think it through!"

Bleak look. "Believe me, Harper, I have."

"Dylan." He had to roll to the side to try and sit up, and Dylan wasn’t going to help him. "Come on, Dylan, listen to me. Two heads are better than one, and I _know_ there’s gotta be a better way. A smarter way." More struggle--he’d never realized that having his hands cuffed in _front_ of him would make it so difficult to manage.

Dylan rose again. Cupped his face briefly. "I’ll be back soon, Harper. Try and stay out of trouble." Brief smile.

"Yeah, right." Like he wasn’t going try everything he could to get free and out of this cell. "Dylan, you haven’t thought everything through. We’ve got other options."

Dylan was already at the door. Brief regretful look back and Dylan went out, the door slid shut.

"Dylan!!" He nearly screamed it, twisted his hands inside the cuffs to no avail. "Rommie! Dammit, he’s going to kill himself! You’ve got to help me." 

Rommie’s image appeared in the cell. "I’m sorry, Harper, I can’t." Almost regretfully.

He took in a deep breath, tried to think. "This is wrong, Rommie. He’s going to kill himself doing this. He nearly died last time! What about the Commonwealth? What about what’s right?"

"Dylan believes that this mission is more important." Her image wavered slightly.

"You aren’t just an AI, Rommie. You can think independently, dammit, think! What good is it going to do if he gets himself killed? Even if he kills that thing, the universe is still a rough place, what happened to his goal of making things better? Of holding back the night?" He rocked forward, got to his feet. "Rommie, think, god, please! He can’t do this alone."

Her image wavered again. Flicked out.

"Rommie!"

But she didn’t reappear again, even when he beat his hands fruitlessly on the door.

  


* * *

Harper was sitting on the floor, knees drawn up, eyes reddened, when Dylan returned. 

He considered that. Crouched in front of Harper. "Harper, please don’t make this harder. It’s hard enough as it is." Softly.

Harper looked up from under his eyebrows. "I’m not making it easy on you to kill yourself, Dylan." Just short of a snarl. "Or me."

"Harper, you’ll be perfectly safe. There’s enough food and water to last six months, although I very much doubt you’ll be in the pod that long. And extra scrubbers, which you know how to change, so the air won’t get toxic."

Harper shook his head. "You won’t be perfectly safe. How the hell do you expect to get close to that thing?"

He sighed. "With great stealth and cunning. Harper, that’s why I had you do all the upgrades. I wanted--"

"You wanted to be ready to go after it." A drop of sweat ran down Harper’s temple. "You were planning it even then."

"I thought it might be necessary then. I wasn’t sure until Lyrs." He rose again, leaned down to tug Harper to his feet. "Let’s go."

"The hell." Harper braced himself against the wall. "I’m not going anywhere."

Dylan sighed. "Fine." Grabbed Harper’s linked wrists and leaned his shoulder into Harper’s middle. Got a grunt of surprise and then a yelp and Harper tried roll off, overbalance them both.

"Harper, I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want to drug you, but I will." Sharply.

Harper subsided. "Dylan, don’t do this. Come on, there’s no reason. We can enlist a bigger force. What good is it to have a Commonwealth if these guys won’t carry part of the tab?"

"The Commonwealth is pretty damned new," Dylan said regretfully. "I’ve already tried to convince them of the necessity, but they think I’m exaggerating."

"So? We’ve got proof, we’ve got Rommie’s playbacks." Harper was still protesting as Dylan carried him down the corridor. 

The heft and shape of Harper made Dylan’s chest ache uselessly; he remembered heat and sweetness and Harper’s acceptance of the ending and wished he’d done things differently.

He reached the hatch to the pod, pressed the control to open the hatch. Two hatches, actually, the outer and the inner; bending a little, he stepped inside--Harper chose that moment to literally go crazy, knee in Dylan’s chest, arms somehow looping around Dylan’s neck, and they both went down heavily.

It knocked the wind out of him; he supposed distantly that was fair, considering what he’d done to Harper earlier, but Harper, damn him, hit him again in the gut, squirmed out and scrabbled to the other side of the pod, hit the control that would seal the hatch and eject the pod.

Harper, as he’d noted before, was damn quick. 

Dylan rolled up to his feet and hit Harper backhanded before sense caught up with his temper. Harper’s head thumped against the bulkhead and then they both went down as the pod was ejected. Harper simply slid down the bulkhead; Dylan fell backwards, slammed hard against the console and bit the inside of his mouth hard.

Several moments of high g and then Harper tilted his head back, eyed Dylan.

Dylan swallowed blood, glared back. "This doesn’t solve anything, dammit. Rommie will just have to pick us up."

"Not if I damage the comm." Harper pushed himself up to his feet.

Dylan rolled up to his feet, grabbed Harper, but dammit, Harper was quick, and Harper was like a damn gymnast, Harper used Dylan as leverage to swing around and literally bang his head into the comm. 

For a heartbeat, Dylan’s conviction faltered. It was a lunatic thing to do, Harper’s eyes rolled up briefly, and when Dylan manhandled him back to the floor of the pod, he found blood on the back of Harper’s head. It looked like a pressure cut, and like most head wounds, it was bleeding like mad. "Are you insane?" Angrily, and he turned, opened a cabinet, fumbled for the emergency medical kit.

"Try and get Rommie now," Harper told him fuzzily and drew his knees up, rested his forehead against his knees. "Ow."

"Damn right, ow. You _are_ insane." His anger was fading; Harper’s hair was silky in back, it made him remember too much. The small skinfuser sealed the edges of the wound nicely, and he used a sterile wipe to clean up the blood. "Really insane, Harper."

"I’m not the one trying to kill myself." Sullen mutter, and Harper didn’t look up.

"And I think Rommie will notice that I’ve unaccountably gone out in the pod with you." Dylan sank down on the floor next to Harper. "So what was the point?"

Harper didn’t answer. After a moment, Dylan saw Harper’s shoulders shaking; it made his chest hurt again, he reached out to touch Harper, but Harper jerked away.

"Don’t touch me, you’re a dead man!" Harper’s head came up, wrathful expression, but Harper’s face was wet. "What the hell is the matter with you? You broke the rules by fucking me, so you have to die?"

Oh, dear forgotten gods. "Harper! You--" Deep breath in. "Harper, this has nothing to do with us." Us. Us. The word reverberated, echoed and he closed his eyes against the pain in Harper’s. "You’ve got to believe that."

"I don’t!" Harper dragged his sleeve over his eyes. "You’re so fucking honorable, so focused on the High Guard code, and you broke it. Not even with somebody in the High Guard, but a mudfoot who got off Earth in ways you can’t imagine, let alone approve of."

He reached again, grabbed Harper hard. "This has nothing to do with you!" Nose to nose. Furious.

Harper blinked. "Liar." A whisper.

Something threatened his sanity, he pulled Harper against him, put his hand at the back of Harper’s neck and his mouth over Harper’s. Harper resisted for a moment, hands flat against Dylan’s chest, stiff-armed, but then Harper grabbed him back, his mouth open and hot and eager.

Sanity crumbled briefly then, he had Harper in his lap, fumbled at Harper’s clothing while Harper fumbled with his. Warm skin, Harper skin, and, god, he wanted it. But sanity, dammit, sanity kept intruding and he stopped, still holding Harper, took in a deep breath. "We can’t do this. It’s not fair to you, Harper, I don’t want to hurt you."

Harper pushed himself away. "I’ve got news for you, you already did. And it’s going to hurt worse if you end up being lunch to a pack of Magog babies." His expression changed. "You can’t do it alone, Dylan. If you have to do it, I’ll go with you."

He had a brief, stomach-turning image of Harper being eaten alive. "No." Hoarsely, cold with horror. "I’m not taking anyone, I can’t sacrifice any more. You’re not a goddamn pawn and this isn’t a chess game."

Harper, understandably, blinked at this, baffled. "What?"

"Never mind." Dylan rubbed his forehead. "I don’t suppose I can convince you to fix the comm."

"Not a chance." Angrily. "Fix it yourself."

"I will." It would just take him longer than it would take Harper. He got up, refastened his jacket and moved to the smashed comm. Harper’s head was unsurprisingly hard, evidently. Smashed components, chips, and this was not going to be either fun or easy.

"Just tell me one thing, Dylan. If it doesn’t have anything to do with me, why can’t I help you?" Still angry.

"I won’t watch you die." The words slipped out before he could stop himself.

"But it’s okay for you to die?" Harper pushed himself to his feet, leaned against the bulkhead to watch Dylan. "I wouldn’t touch that if I were you, by the way."

Dylan glanced at him. "I don’t have a lot of choice." It did shock him, but not as badly as he’d expected, and he shook his hand in the air.

Harper’s eyes darkened. "The hell you don’t. You can choose to do it right or choose to be the dead hero of the High Guard." 

Dylan looked at him again. "I meant I didn’t have a lot of choice about touching the circuit." Mildly. "But either way--I choose not to sacrifice anyone else."

"Just yourself." Bitterly. "Do you get like extra points in the afterlife for this?"

"Harper." He turned back to the comm. The damage was far worse than he’d expected. Damn Harper and his hard head and the willfulness that let Harper use that head as a battering ram. He rubbed his forehead, considered the next best step and carefully reached inside, pulled out broken pieces of circuit. It could have been worse. He thought he could cannibalize and still get the damn thing to transmit, although they’d be deaf to any response. 

"Okay, tell me again why you have to do this? And why you have to do it alone instead of with a whole fucking fleet of ships."

Dylan sighed. "I couldn’t get an entire fleet of ships. Too much divisiveness. If I could, I’d rather, believe me."

"Alone, Dylan. Why do you have to do this alone?"

"I’m not sacrificing anyone else. There’s only so many ways I can say this, Harper."

"So what’s with the chess metaphor?" 

He closed his eyes, saw Trance again, gaily sacrificing pawns, knights and bishops. "Just... a metaphor. In battle, every commander has to sacrifice people, just as chess players sacrifice their pieces." 

"You don’t even play chess."

"My point exactly." He pulled out the small board, sat down on the floor working carefully. "I don’t and I won’t. Not with lives."

"Except your own." Harper was sitting down now, too. Knees drawn up again. "You’re really fucked up, Dylan."

He ignored this, kept working. When he glanced up again, Harper had put his head on his knees. "Harper, don’t go to sleep."

"Why the hell not?" Harper didn’t move.

"I hate to point this out to you, but you gave yourself a head injury. I don’t want you to sleep until Rommie checks you over."

Harper raised his head. "So what the _fuck_ is the captain/crew taboo you broke, anyway? What’s it about? I mean, I don’t have sex with Beka because it’s vaguely incestuous, but when we first hooked up, it certainly crossed my mind. Not that she’d have looked at me twice, but what the hell."

Dylan glanced up, smiled thinly. "Did she think about it?"

"Hell if I know. Oh, I get it. I wasn’t the captain. Fuck you, too."

"You did, if memory serves." Dylan sighed, looked directly at Harper. "I realize that as a member of Beka’s crew, you may not have found it an issue, but there’s this thing called command. I have to give orders that are sometimes unpleasant. I have to take disciplinary actions against crewmembers that, for example, insist on brawling." Meaningful look. "Personal relationships lead to a rupture in discipline, problems with morale, and insubordination."

Harper rolled his eyes. "You had that before we ever had sex."

It temporarily derailed his ability to focus. Harper was right. "Point taken," he admitted dryly. "It also makes it very hard to give unpleasant orders."

Harper arched an eyebrow. "Why? Because your partner might announce to the entire ship that he or she is doing you?"

"No." He briefly felt the urge to smack Harper again, but Harper’s cheek was already puffy from his backhand. "Because emotions... interfere."

Harper snorted. "Oh, I get it. You didn’t want to have emotions."

That stung. "It wasn’t a question of not wanting to have them." Which was true. He had them anyway. But that thought distracted him from what he’d been about to say. "Harper...."

Harper’s smile was feral. "Are you denying that you want me?"

"No, I’m not." Only a fool wouldn’t want Harper, he thought distantly. 

Harper prompted stood up, squirmed out of his shirt.

Dylan stared. "What the _hell_ are you doing?"

"You’re going to kill both of us anyway, I figure I can at least get a little of what I want before then." Harper gave him that grin again, reached for his waistband.

"No." Grimly. "Harper, it isn’t fair to you." And then he heard himself, fatuous clichés coming from his mouth. "Harper." Weakly. "This isn’t a good idea."

"Another news flash. None of this is fair to me." Harper unfastened his pants, sat down abruptly to deal with his boots. "I mean, I knew you’d kiss me off, I just figured it would take some time before you realized you were banging post-Apocalyptic trash instead of one of your do or die Commonwealth types. I figured I could keep it cool, keep it light, no _emotions_ , right?" One boot came off. "So, when I’m right on the first count, and wrong on the second, I figure it’s okay, I can deal. I mean, after where I came from, having a heart is the next best thing to committing public suicide, so what the hell, I’ll deal. I didn’t know you had a death wish." The second boot came off.

Dylan watched, mesmerized, the circuit board forgotten. "Harper--"

"Shut up, Dylan. You want me. Even if you’re too fucking High Guard to admit it." A third feral smile. "I can work with that."

That made him angry. "Dammit, Harper, I’m not denying it. I just admitted it. What the _hell_ is your problem."

"I guess you don’t want me enough to have me if it breaks the rules." Harper’s pants hit the floor.

"This isn’t about want, Harper." He gritted his teeth against the throb of desire. "It’s about not hurting you. Not hurting you any more than I have."

Harper, naturally, ignored this, came over and climbed into his lap.

He wasn’t dead yet, he kissed Harper hard. Held Harper’s face and drank him in. And then drew back. "I thought you said it was casual."

"I was wrong." Harper’s mouth twisted a little. "You won’t even listen to me, will you? You’re going to push me off and finish working on that fucking board, and knowing you, you’ll fix the fucking thing. You’ll call Rommie to come and pick us up, and just go on with your suicide plan."

He shook at Harper. "It’s not suicide." Well, not precisely. "Harper, this has to be done."

Harper’s mouth trembled. "So do it right, Dylan. You don’t have to do it alone."

He took in a deep breath. "In fact, I think I do." 

"No, you don’t. You don’t have to do it without the kinds of weapons that would work." Harper put his hands over Dylan’s. "That data I downloaded from my head, Dylan, there were weapons in there that I could build, that we could use to kill that thing. To destroy those Magog."

Again, his conviction faltered, wavered. Or at least his conviction about Harper did. He pulled Harper close again, kissed him, and the circuit board fell to one side. 

Warm and human and lovely. Salt taste of skin, and Harper’s fingers were working him out of his uniform with alarming speed, and then they were stretched out on their scattered clothing, stretched out against each other, the drag and slide of skin against skin unbearably sweet and painful at the same time. Once would have to pay for all, he thought distantly; even if he did, by some chance, survive, Harper would never forgive him for this. He tried to transmit regret and affection with his fingertips, with his lips, with his body, and when Harper came, he followed Harper over the edge too quickly.

He held Harper then, lying there. And suddenly, shockingly, Harper was trembling, face buried in his neck, face wet and hot, and it nearly undid him completely. He wavered again, but then the image returned, Harper’s screams as the Magog spawn ate their way from their host. 

"Just tell me why, goddammit." Muffled voice. "Why does it have to be you?"

He was too undone to pretend. "Because of the dreams. Because of Trance. Because I choose not to sacrifice any of you in order to destroy this thing."

Shaky inhalation against his skin. "Dylan, you’re talking crazy."

He rubbed the nape of Harper’s neck. "I know." Ruefully. "I told myself that. Until I talked to the Zensunni at Lyrs."

Harper was silent for a long time. "You don’t believe that mystic mumbo jumbo." Faintly.

"I never did, no." Dylan sighed. "But I guess seeing is believing."

"So you think that whatever the hell the Divine is, it wants you to kill yourself doing this. Why can’t it be that the Divine wants you to use the data I downloaded." Harper sat up, scowled at him. "I mean, the Perseid who did it _ran_ into us, Dylan."

Dylan eyed Harper. "I’d be more impressed with that reasoning if I thought you believed me."

Harper’s mouth twisted again. "I don’t know what I believe. I never believed in any gods, Dylan. I mean, what kind of maniac god would create the Magog? A species that has to rape unwilling victims to survive? But... what you said about Trance. Trance is... I dunno, Trance isn’t your average person, no matter what she pretends."

Dylan blinked. Swallowed hard. "Does that mean you do believe me?"

"I believe you believe it. And I believe something’s happening." Miserable expression. "You’re generally smarter than this. Something’s got you turned inside out."

It hit him harder than it should have. He’d had time to come to his decision, he’d researched, he’d....

Turned himself inside out.

Conviction faltered again, he looked into Harper’s eyes. "The download." Thoughtfully. The Perseid’s collision with the Maru. The data. Their discovery of the entity in the download. It _could_ have all been a part of this. His determination to keep his crew from harm might have blinded him to the obvious. "Harper--" he began, and then the pod lurched.

They were both up instantly, snatching after clothing and, in Dylan’s case, his weapons. Habit. But not a bad one. Without comm, he couldn’t be sure it was Rommie until the pod opened. Harper was dressing more slowly, his expression uncertain. "So we go after the download?"

He pulled his shirt back on, sighed. "You’re still not going with me when we’re done."

Harper looked at him, pulled on his boots. 

The pod lurched again, Dylan had to grab Harper to keep him from being flung against the bulkhead. Again. 

"But you’re not going to after them right now," Harper muttered, "Right?"

He considered again. The entity had been pretty damned anxious to make certain that no one accessed that data. "Right." The pod lurched again; he braced himself against the bulkhead and simply pulled Harper against him, cushioning Harper’s head against his shoulder. "Right." More softly.

Harper shivered, even though he was fully dressed, save for his boots. "Good."

There was an unpleasant grinding sound, metal against metal, and he frowned, tightened his arm. "That doesn’t sound good."

Harper sighed. "Hope like hell it’s Rommie."

He couldn’t prevent himself from saying it. "If you hadn’t smashed the comm, that wouldn’t be as much of a concern."

"Doesn’t matter. Somebody else tries to pick us up, I’ll bet Rommie kicks their ass." 

"Good point." More grinding and another lurch and then quiet. For a long, long while. Harper was silent, and it gave Dylan time to brood. Not on his decision to retrieve the data, no, but on the things Harper had said to him. He wondered how much of it had been calculated and how much Harper genuinely believed, and either way, it was disturbing. 

Harper sighed and shifted a little.

"Don’t go to sleep," Dylan told him.

"I know, you said that already." Irritably. 

He shifted one hand, rubbed the warm skin just above the collar of Harper’s shirt. "Harper, I wasn’t--in no way do I think of you as, ah, post-Apocalyptic trash."

"Doesn’t matter." Harper’s voice was tired. "Besides, Rommie does. I’m not stupid, Dylan."

"I know that, Harper, and I very much doubt that Rommie thinks anything of the sort. If she does, I want you to run a diagnostic, she’s clearly been infected by some virus." He sighed. "It does matter. It matters to me, and I think it matters to you."

Harper drew his knees up. "Just forget it, Dylan." 

"No." But he’d leave Harper alone for the moment. "How’s the head?"

"Aches." 

Another lurch, followed by a hum. Dylan listened, thought they were probably in the hangar bay. More sounds, probably the doors closing, and then another silence. Fortunately, Harper hadn’t smashed the sensor display. No atmosphere yet, but as Dylan watched, the indicators went from red to green.

"We’re good to go," he said and let go of Harper. 

Harper pushed himself up, turned to offer Dylan a hand. His expression was bleak.

"I thought you’d be a little happier," Dylan told him dryly. "Since you convinced me."

"I am," Harper told him. "I’m a lot happier."

Dylan studied him for a moment, nodded and pressed the control for the hatch. Hissing sound as the pressure equalized, and he’d been right, they were in the hangar bay.

What he hadn’t expected was that the Maru would be there as well.

Dark hilarity bubbled up. If he needed an omen that Harper might be right, here it was. But it didn’t ease his mind, it only frightened him more. Trance’s legends, his dream, their two encounters with the thing--he didn’t want this, he had accepted the responsibility himself.

The Maru’s ramp clanked and lowered and the hatch opened; Harper was still staring, evidently stunned. He supposed he should find it reassuring that Harper had no more idea than he did of how the Maru had tracked them. "Go on, Harper, I want Rommie to have a look at your head," he said.

Harper nodded, blinked, and stepped out of the pod just as Beka strode down the ramp. "Uh oh, boss, look out," Harper muttered, "She’s _truly_ pissed."

Dylan winced. "I can tell." Beka was heading for them without slowing. 

She slowed, paused as she reached Harper. "What happened to your face?" Sharply.

He shrugged.

"Beka," Dylan began. Her fist felt like a sledgehammer. He reeled, one hand cupping his jaw and Harper was shouting at her.

There was some pleasure in seeing that she was shaking her hand as if it hurt. 

"What the _hell_ was that for?" he roared.

Beka got up into his face. "What the _hell_ do you mean taking off like that? And what the _hell_ did you do to Harper!?"

"Beka!" Harper’s voice was desperate. "Just leave it the fuck alone, okay? I’m fine. I hit my head is all."

Beka didn’t look like she was going to leave it alone for long, but after a long look at Harper, she nodded.

"He needs to get to med-deck," Dylan growled. "He hit his head pretty hard."

Beka shot him a glare that promised him it wasn’t over.

He shot one back, never mind that her anger wasn’t exactly unexpected. And there he’d leave it, at least until he couldn’t.

  


* * *

As Harper had expected, Rommie said he had a mild concussion. Duh, he thought, watching Beka and Dylan try to outstare each other. No weird little bleeding spots on his brain, he was just a little thickheaded from hitting the damn comm with his skull, and he didn’t regret it at all. Didn’t regret anything, in fact, even though he’d only bought some time. 

The weird thing was that he believed Dylan. Believed that Dylan might be right. "So I can go to sleep, right?"

"Yes," Rommie said. "Does your head ache, Harper?"

"A lot."

She moved toward the cabinet. "I can give you something for that." Matter of factly.

He wondered if she had contacted the Maru. Wondered how the Maru had gotten there in time to pick them up and drag them into the hangar bay. Wondered why the hell his idiotic attempt at seducing Dylan had worked. Except it really hadn’t. He wasn’t sure exactly what _had_ worked, but he wasn’t dumb enough to question the gift. He glanced up to find Dylan watching him. Beka was talking, her voice low and angry, and Harper couldn’t hear her. Dylan seemed mostly to be ignoring her.

It made his stomach do a lazy roll. He looked away, rubbed his forehead. His heart was thumping too hard, too fast and Rommie glanced up at the monitor when she returned, frowned a little. "Harper?"

He held out his hands for the small bottle she carried. "I’m okay. Just a little... tired." That part was true enough. He’d been awakened from a sound sleep by a trip through slipstream and he’d been living on adrenaline and terror since then.

She put the vial in his hand. "Take one now. It may help you sleep."

He nodded, slid down from the table. "Thanks, Rommie."

Dylan was still watching him. He felt Dylan’s gaze follow him out of med-deck, shivered once, touched his own mouth, remembered Dylan’s hunger.

Remembered Dylan’s acceptance of his own death. Remembered the horror in Dylan’s eyes when he’d told Dylan he’d go with him.

That drove him to his own quarters faster than his headache approved.

The pill didn’t actually help much with sleep, although the ache eased up. He did doze off finally, only to wake up when his door opened.

Beka. Well, he’d expected that, although he’d hoped for someone else. 

"Go away," he told her and put the pillow over his head. 

"Not until you talk to me." Beka’s voice was harsh. "Dammit, Harper, what the _hell_ happened? You let him hit you?"

Sighing, he removed the pillow. "Beka, we were kinda fighting at the time. He was trying to throw me in the pod, and I wasn’t letting myself be thrown. When I hit the launch, I guess he lost his temper. Be fair, I’d just kicked him in the stomach pretty hard, it wasn’t that bad. Believe me, smashing the comm with my head hurt a lot more."

Beka sat down suddenly on the edge of his bed, as if her knees had gone out from under her. "Is he crazy?"

"I don’t think so." He swallowed hard. "I believe him. You _know_ there’s something about Trance. I mean, I love her, but she’s a mystery."

Beka rubbed her forehead. "What the hell does Trance have to do with this?" Irritably.

Oh. Well. Evidently, Dylan hadn’t mentioned Trance. "I dunno. Neither does Dylan. Beka, how did you get here so fast? How’d you figure out where the Andromeda was?"

She gave him a long look. "Trance. There I was, about to get lucky for the first time in months, and Trance comes up and drags me out of the club."

He felt chilled, tugged the extra blanket around him and sat up. "Yeah."

She sat there for a moment, studying her hands. "So he was going to go off and get himself killed saving the universe alone."

He swallowed hard. "He kept saying he had to, it was his responsibility. And that he wasn’t going to let any of us get killed with him. Or something like that." He rubbed his forehead again. "Man, I smashed that comm but good."

"Rommie would still have come to get you." Beka sighed. "I get the feeling she wasn’t happy about Dylan’s decision to go it alone. Not that she’d tell me. But she didn’t ignore my hail, and she opened the bay doors for us. Of course, we had Dylan in the pod, so that could be why."

He felt a faint surge of hope. Maybe he’d gotten through to Rommie. Maybe Beka was right. "We’re going to retrieve the download."

Beka’s head turned, she stared at him. "What?"

His throat ached. "Weapons. I convinced him that maybe it was meant for him to have the weapons."

After a moment, her eyebrows slanted together. "Harper, there is nothing I would rather do less than go back there, but I’ll be damned if I let him do it alone. Can you really use that?"

He swallowed again. "I might have to upload some of it. But I think I can control the amount this time. And the data selection."

"Are you sure?" She wasn’t taking anything at face value.

"Well, I built it." He grinned crookedly at her. "But yeah, I think so."

"Don’t think so. Know so. Harper, I can’t let you risk yourself--"

"Beka, it’s my risk."

They stared at each other for a minute, and then she reached out, hugged him hard. "Dammit. You’ve got it bad."

"It isn’t just that." He hugged her back. "Beka, if he’s right...." But that thought was pretty fucking scary. Scarier than feeling what he felt for Dylan. "If he’s right, we have to do something."

She didn’t say anything, she just hugged him harder. Let go and leaned back, touched his cheek lightly. "He hits you again, he’s going to be lucky if I don’t do more than punch him in the jaw."

"Beka." Patiently. 

"Yeah, yeah, I get it." But her eyes were too bright. "Get some sleep, Seamus."

He felt a flicker of relief. She’d back him, even if she thought he was nuts. "Thanks, Beka."

She waved vaguely. "Just get some sleep." But she stopped at the door. "Seamus, why didn’t you go out with us?"

He ducked his head, vaguely abashed. "I was depressed." Like it was a dirty secret.

Beka sighed audibly, went out.

He wrapped himself more tightly in the blanket, sank back down on the pillow.

  


* * *

Dylan had wanted to go after Harper once he’d broken free of Beka, but before he’d gotten there, Trance caught him.

"Dylan." Sternly. He’d heard her use that tone to Harper. "What were you thinking? You can’t do this alone."

That was too much. "Trance, I don’t know what or who you are, but don’t tell me I can’t."

She blinked at him. "Dylan, you can’t! You aren’t meant to."

"I’m not letting any of them die." He stared back at her. "I won’t."

She blinked again. "Dylan," cautiously, "what are you talking about?"

He supposed it was just that he was worried about Harper, feeling undone and unsettled and uncertain, but he heard himself telling her the details of his nightmare, heard himself accusing her of playing a god game, heard his own voice crack upward before he finally got himself under control, arms folded tight, back against the corridor bulkhead.

She was watching him, eyes wide and alarmed. "Dylan." Seemed to think it over and bit her lip. "Dylan, I didn’t have anything to do with your dreams."

He felt unutterably weary. "I didn’t think you did, Trance." 

She looked unhappy. "Um, I think maybe you’re mixing up two dreams. Yours and Harpers."

He stared at her. "Excuse me?"

She sighed. "When he was so sick, he was raving, he was dreaming--nightmares." Her lips thinned out briefly. "Terrible nightmares. You were in and out of consciousness yourself, you thought it was real."

He frowned at her. "And?"

"And I think somehow that got into your dream." She gave him a reproachful look. "I don’t even know how to play chess, Dylan. And when have I ever acted like your lives don’t matter to me?"

He rubbed his eyes. "Trance--" 

She put her hands on her hips. "Dylan, I’m not _doing_ anything. But I’ll tell you something, and it doesn’t take me being some kind of avatar to say it, you can’t do this alone. You shouldn’t do it alone."

"So I’m told," he snapped. "And yet oddly, I was doing fine until Harper showed up still on the ship. How in the _hell_ did the Maru follow me?"

She frowned at him. "I’ll tell you how, Dylan. I _knew_ something bad was happening, and I told Beka, and well, we followed you."

"How." He leaned forward into her space.

She blinked. "Um, I’m not sure exactly."

"You’re not sure." He said it disbelievingly.

Trance turned a delicate shade of violet. "Well, I’m not. I sort of, um, piloted."

He remembered too well their trip back to the Witchhead Nebula. "Fine. We’ll discuss this later."

She looked unhappy. "You don’t believe me." 

"I don’t disbelieve you, either. I don’t know what to believe." He said it abruptly. "I’m working on that. Good night, Trance."

He hesitated when he reached Harper’s quarters. Hesitated and then decided and pressed the control. The door opened, he went in--damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead. Harper was apparently asleep, hardly surprising. He himself was totally exhausted. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he considered. Took off his boots and his jacket. All he could see of Harper was the angle of one cheekbone and the spiky blond hair, at least until he shifted closer and leaned over.

Harper was definitely asleep, nothing faux there. The bed was a wreck, as if there had been a brawl that Harper had won. One fist was tucked up under Harper’s chin, Harper was wrapped up in one of the blankets, and he was drooling on his pillow. Dylan was hard pressed not to laugh; somehow, after the events of the last twenty-four hours, there was something touchingly normal about that. 

As if sensing he wasn’t alone, Harper made a restive sound, twitched one foot free of the blanket that was tangled around him.

"Harper," Dylan murmured. "You look like a mummy." 

Harper stirred, blinked. Sat up so fast Dylan had to lean back. "Whazzit?"

"You look like a mummy." Dylan said softly and tugged at a corner of the blanket. "How can you sleep like this?"

Clearly baffled, Harper looked down at the blanket, blinked again, and then curled back on his side. Almost instantly out. Evidently reassured by the fact that it was Dylan in his room and not, presumably, something or someone else.

It put a lump in his throat. He gave up unpeeling Harper, and straightened the rest of the bed before stretching out next to him. He wasn’t even going to try to rationalize what he was doing; he needed it. Maybe Harper needed it. Maybe it was wrong, maybe it was unwise, he could no longer tell up from down half the time anyway, so the hell with it. Closing his eyes, he let his cheek rest against Harper’s hair and let himself sink under.

  


* * *

Harper was vaguely conscious that someone was lying behind him, vaguely conscious that he’d known that at some point and hadn’t been worried about it. So he didn’t worry about now, even though he mostly thought he was dreaming it and still pretty much asleep. At least until the someone put an arm over him and nuzzled the back of his neck.

His eyes opened suddenly and he rolled over, peered at Dylan. An unshaven, messy Dylan. A half-awake, unshaven, messy Dylan, who was nonetheless apparently comfortable in nuzzling him, whether it was the back of his neck or the side of his neck. "What’re you doin’?" 

"Smelling you." Dylan’s voice was still thick with sleep.

Okay, that made sense. No, it didn’t. But he sank back anyway, rubbed his eyes. Dylan was in bed with him. Deliberately. By choice. "No, I mean what’re you doin’ here?"

Dylan sighed, nuzzled him again. "Wanted to make sure you were all right."

"Oh." He let himself relax into that. Dylan’s hand was on his stomach, up under his shirt, and he was a fool for that, it just plain felt good. Felt better when Dylan nipped at the corner of his jaw and then Dylan was kissing him, a take-no-prisoners sort of kiss, and that felt too good, it felt scary and he pulled away, heart thumping hard. "I know I said," he managed, but his throat hurt suddenly. "I know I said, but I can’t do the on/off thing. Hurts too much, and I gotta get over it."

Dylan drew back, his expression unreadable. But his hand kept moving on Harper’s stomach. "Harper, I’m sorry." Softly. "I was trying to do what was best."

He got that, he really did. Didn’t make him feel any better, but he got it. 

"I wish I could be sure of what’s best." Dylan’s voice was soft. "I’ve spent a lifetime doing my duty, and it’s not a habit I can break. But... I think I was wrong, in more ways than one." He rolled onto his back and Harper mourned the loss of the warm hand on his stomach. "The truth is, Harper, I’m not sure of anything right now. I know what has to be done. I know what I feel and I know what I want. And I know it might be too late for the last two." He looked at Harper again. "Is it?"

Oh, man, there it was, and all he had to do is reach out with both hands and take it, and some demon made him say instead, "You still planning on going back there alone?"

Dylan sighed, rubbed his forehead. "I don’t know." Bluntly. "I honestly don’t know, Harper." Brooding again. "It all seemed so clear, and now it’s not." 

Hell, who was he kidding? Harper’s throat was too tight again. "Swear to god, if you do, I’m going follow you down into hell and make your afterlife fucking miserable."

Brief startled look, and then Dylan was holding him, just holding him. "Harper." A whisper, breath warm on his ear. "Harper." Just that, nothing more.

It was enough. At least for now. "We get the download," he told Dylan desperately. "We get the download and we use what’s in it."

Dylan’s arms tightened. "Right."

That let him stop shaking. Gradually. Dylan was still warm and alive and here. He was going to do his damnedest to make sure Dylan stayed that way, even if it meant going back there. Even if he had to cheat.

This time, when Dylan gave him that take-no-prisoners kiss, he gave it back.

  


* * *

Thought and memory, memory and dream. Wishing he could be sure which was which, Dylan listened to the sound of Harper’s shower. He’d faced the fact that he couldn’t go on pretending that Harper wasn’t woven into the strands of his life; there were other facts that had to be faced, but determining what they were and what they meant was far more confusing. It was a strange universe when falling in love with Harper was the only thing he could trust as factual.

He heard the shower stop, rolled over to watch Harper emerge, toweling his hair energetically. No wonder it stood on end, he thought, amused, and allowed himself a moment of purely carnal appreciation. Harper might be short, but he wasn’t slight: compact, gymnast’s body, nicely shaped if not buffed, and just watching it put a pleasant throb in his nerve endings

After all, they had gone back to sleep after sex, and that had been a few hours, and dammit, it was entirely selfish of him, but hadn’t he tried to do the right thing and done the wrong thing, and wasn’t it fair for him to feel want and desire and need, and wouldn’t it help him convince Harper that he had no intention of giving Harper a "kiss off" as Harper had expected?

Harper stopped toweling and draped the towel around his neck, clearly unaware that Dylan was awake. Went to the bureau and started rummaging for clothing.

"Hey." Dylan sat up. "What are you doing?"

Startled look. "Oh, you’re awake. Uh, I was going to get dressed."

"Why is that?" Dylan arched an eyebrow.

Harper stared at him. "Uh, because working naked around sharp objects can be dangerous?"

"That explains why you generally wear so many layers." 

Harper took a cautious step back toward the bed. 

Dylan approved of that, waited.

"Um," Harper said and rubbed his forehead. "I guess that means we’re not off again."

"I’ve always known you were intelligent." Dylan crooked a finger.

His expression dazed, Harper walked over, allowed himself to be pulled back down into bed. "Oh." Faintly.

"Oh?" Dylan nuzzled, licked Harper’s throat. 

"Dylan." Still faintly.

"I told you, I know what I feel and I know what I want." Dylan loosened his embrace a little. Harper could escape if he wanted. He very much hoped that Harper didn’t want. "We’ll find a way somehow, find the balance. If you want to."

Harper’s expression shifted too swiftly for him to identify what he saw there, but Harper’s kiss was promising. "I want to." Hoarsely. 

"No on and off. Not again." He kissed Harper back, luxuriating in the heat and hunger of Harper’s mouth, in the feel of muscle and bone under his palms, the press and heft of Harper on top of him. 

Harper finally pulled back, a little breathless. "Um. I’ve got some, um, lube here."

It occurred to him to wonder why, but he had other things on his mind. "Good. Get it."

Harper stumbled out of bed, found what he sought in his top drawer and came back to the bed. Dylan grabbed him, pulled him down and ran a rather possessive hand over Harper’s flank. Harper handed him the tube; he uncapped it and squeezed the contents onto Harper’s fingers. "My turn."

For a minute, he thought Harper had frozen; long, long stare of astonishment, and then Harper made a faint sound, shifted back to his knees between Dylan’s legs. Slippery fingers and Dylan consciously relaxed the parts of him that hadn’t done this in a long, long time. Harper’s expression was incendiary, and Harper was nervous, too gentle, and finally Dylan just said, "Now." Hoarsely.

Harper faltered. "Have you done this before? Cuz you don’t--"

Dylan briefly regretted that Harper wasn’t wearing anything he could grab. "Now!" he repeated, putting a little more command force into it.

Harper blinked. "Hey, you can’t give orders in bed."

Dylan frowned. "Stop panicking and do me."

Harper shivered, leaned down to lick Dylan’s belly and pulled his fingers slowly out. Replaced them with his cock. Too gentle, too nervous, and Dylan finally just hooked one leg behind Harper and arched up into it. Steady burn, but just as he remembered, it shifted to pleasure; Harper gasped, pushed his hips forward and oh, yeah, that was it, just right, and his cock, which had changed its mind during the burn, throbbed.

Harper’s brain appeared to have shorted out enough that he forgot to be nervous, he moved almost involuntarily and groaned. "Oh, god, Dylan."

He made a sound of agreement, arched up to meet Harper’s thrust and they gradually found a rhythm. Hot and sweet, and oh, yes, Harper found the right angle and spot, and who would have thought, for someone Harper’s size, he had amazing reach, it felt like his hands were all over Dylan--actually, it felt like he had more than two, because one of them was wrapped snugly around Dylan’s cock and that was pretty damn good, too.

Harper came first, with a groan; he came with a roar. When he could breathe regularly again, he had an armful of Harper, nervous again, asking, "You okay?"

He couldn’t help laughing. "Are you kidding? I’m fine." Lingering kiss. "Are you always this nervous?" Sudden suspicion. "Harper, is that the first time you’ve--"

Harper blushed scarlet. Which was rather touching, if Dylan cared to spend any time considering it. He didn’t. Instead, he hugged Harper hard. "It was great." Inadequately, and he touched the tip of Harper’s nose. "Better than great."

Harper blushed again. "Well, you know, I’m not real big, and I look young, and I, um...." His voice trailed off.

Abruptly, Dylan felt something like anger on Harper’s behalf. "Get used to it, you’re going to be doing it more often."

Harper’s eyelids lowered briefly. "God. I think my brain just turned to goo. That’s not fair, I can’t even get it up right now, and my brain just turned to goo."

Laughing, Dylan took another kiss. "Hey, I need all the advantages I can get."

Harper snickered, nuzzled him. "Oh, man. That was incredible."

"Yeah. It was." He touched Harper’s nose again. "You need another shower."

"You need your first one," Harper told him smartly. "Unless you wanna show up on command deck and watch Tyr flare his nostrils at you."

"The idea has a certain kind of weird attraction." Dylan stretched, feeling the unfamiliar-familiar ache. "If only because I think it would annoy him."

"Mmm." Harper sounded noncommittal about that. "Let’s not and say we did."

Ah. Well, Harper had annoyed Tyr before. "Okay." Dylan nuzzled back. "Shower. Food. Work."

"Then what?" Harper’s gaze was oddly vulnerable.

"More food. More of this?" He contrived to look hopeful. "Wanna come by my quarters and see my vid collection?"

Harper snickered. "Depends, what’ve you got?"

Dylan pinched Harper’s ass. "Picky, picky."

Instead of getting up, Harper slid one leg between Dylan’s, put his face in Dylan’s neck. Touched again, Dylan put his hand on the small of Harper’s back, rubbed small circles. Comfortable silence, even if it was an odd thing for Harper to do. At last, Harper sighed, rolled away and bounced to his feet. "Shower. Last one in buys a round of drinks next time we’re in port." Cocky grin, and before Dylan could roll out of bed, Harper was gone.

Even if it did cost him, it was worth it to see that grin again.

  


* * *

"All right." Dylan rubbed his forehead. Wished to all the gods that ever were that he could be certain he was making the right choice. Harper’s expression was solemn, Beka’s was still angry, Trance’s was worried, and Tyr’s was thoughtful. "All right. We’re going to retrieve the data download that Harper stored. He’s going to attempt to upload specific files to continue upgrading Andromeda’s defensive and offensive weapons. Hopefully, we can also access some of the files that pertain to the entity."

"Then what?" Tyr’s tone was even. 

"Then, I’m afraid, I’m going back there. I--" Words failed him for a moment and he couldn’t look at Harper. "I had planned on going back alone."

The silence that followed that announcement was more profound then he’d expected. It was broken when Beka knocked her chair over getting out of it. "Dammit, Dylan, are you out of your fucking _mind_?"

He managed a thin smile. "Possibly. What I meant to say, rather, was that I’m not expecting any of you to take this on." He could _feel_ Harper’s gaze. 

"Look, I don’t like going back there, but if we’re prepared, fine." Beka jabbed a finger in the air. "You aren’t going back there alone."

He glanced at Harper, saw him staring at Beka with evident astonishment and relief. Tyr, of course, was clearly reserving judgement.

"You aren’t meant to do it alone, Dylan." Trance was earnest. "I _know_ that."

He sighed, rubbed his face again. "Trance--"

"She may be right." Tyr didn’t sound terribly pleased about it. "I dislike the idea of going back myself, but the fact remains that if we are prepared properly, I’m willing. In a few short years, there will _be_ no place to hide from the Magog. A preemptive strike could work. If, and I emphasize it, if we’re properly prepared. What have you been able to determine about the entity?"

"Not as much as I’d like. Humanoid in general appearance, but not at all humanoid. It may consist solely of energy or, conversely, it may simply be capable of maintaining an interphase state."

Harper was frowning. "Technology or nature?"

"I don’t know." He said it flatly. "But I think we had better consider all possibilities."

Beka was pacing the briefing room. "Right. Right. We weren’t prepared at all last time, the ship was out of control--well, out of our control anyway."

"I’ve got some ideas for beefing up the automated defenses," Harper volunteered. "The big thing is keeping the Magog out while we get to the, um, thing."

"Assuming it’s still there." There, he’d voiced the worst of his fears. "Whether it is or not--" Deep breath. "I think we are going to have to act. I don’t like it, but I’m not sure there’s a choice."

Even Tyr was staring at him. But Tyr nodded grudgingly. 

"I don’t think we have a choice." Beka had stopped pacing. "I don’t think we were given a choice." Somberly.

Trance nodded pensively. "We weren’t."

God, he was infecting all of them with mysticism. Or genocide. His stomach did a lazy roll; whatever the Magog were, however they were created, there was no denying their sentience. Perhaps this was what had driven Rev Bem inside himself, knowing that the Magog under the entity’s control would have to be destroyed.

He’d spent his entire adult life upholding Right over Might, and now he was going to destroy worlds. Even if they were constructs, he felt unclean. Felt helpless to do anything else. He nodded abruptly. "I’ve got the data I’ve managed to glean in the database. Just ask Rommie, she’ll download it for you. That’s all for now." 

Harper gave him a long look and then bounced out of his chair, looked at the ceiling. "Rommie, I’ve got some ideas, can I run ‘em by you?"

"You’d better." 

Harper grinned. "See you in machine shop twelve, okay?" Quick glance at Dylan and he was gone.

Beka watched him go, folded her arms and waited until the others had left. "Dylan, I’ve got something to say to you." 

He looked at her, arched an eyebrow. "With your fist?"

Her mouth quirked. "Not this time. You break his heart again, I’ll use more than my fists. I have weapons and I’m not afraid to use them."

Caught between anger and an emotion he couldn’t quite define, Dylan shook his head. "That’s not your business."

She took a long step toward him. "Get this through your head, Dylan. I may rag on Harper, but that’s because he’s family. My family. That makes it my business." 

"I’m not planning to break his heart again." Tightly. Ah, yes, that other emotion was more than one, it was embarrassment, sadness and the strong desire to be somewhere else immediately.

"Good." Long look, and Beka turned on her heel, left the briefing room.

He wondered dourly if he could blame Rhade for this, too.

  


* * *

"Rommie, how come you didn’t tell Dylan I was in my quarters?" Harper looked up from the schematic he was sketching.

"He didn’t ask." 

Harper stared. If an AI could look uncomfortable, Rommie was looking it. He blinked. "You knew I was there."

"Of course." She tapped the schematic. "Pay attention, Harper."

He looked back down. The problem with swarm ships is that they basically chewed through the outer and inner hull. If he could set up some kind of electromagnetic charge to, heh, give the Magog the hotfoot surprise of their lives.... "Hey, Rommie? If Jeger could phase shift, why don’t the Magog?"

She frowned. "What an unpleasant suggestion."

"Tell me about it." He shuddered at the idea. "I need to wash out my brain."

"Actually, it’s a good question." Rommie sounded thoughtful. "Perhaps because their role is to overwhelm, not to act covertly."

"Makes sense to me." Harper finished sketching. "There. How is that?"

Rommie studied it. "Very ingenious. If you link the power relay into the engine, it will be very difficult for them to break the circuit."

"Damn near impossible, I hope." Harper surveyed his work with satisfaction. "Now, those nanobots between the hulls ought to be a nice touch."

"Indeed." Rommie’s expression was thoughtful.

He looked at her. "You didn’t want him to do this, did you?"

Her mouth set primly. "Dylan is my commanding officer, the captain of this ship."

He grinned crookedly. "That’s what I thought."

"How’s the work going?" Dylan’s voice, from the doorway.

Harper turned. "Got a few things going," he said, trying for his usual cheerful insolence. 

Dylan nodded, came in. "Rommie, would you give us a few minutes?"

"Of course." She moved toward the door. "Privacy mode engaged."

Completely normal Rommie tone, but Dylan turned a little red, and Harper felt his own face get hot. Dylan’s mouth quirked, he looked sidelong at Rommie as she passed him, and Harper couldn’t help his own grin.

"Show me what you’ve got." Dylan approached the worktable, paused midstep as if considering what he’d just said.

Harper looked hastily at the schematic. "Um. Just a few ideas for boosting our defenses against the swarm ships." Slightly strangled voice.

Dylan leaned over the schematic, frowned a little as he traced the lines. "Nasty bit of work," he murmured, but his tone was approving. "Very nice."

"Rommie’s working on something that will neutralize their venom, I’m putting nanobots into the space between the inner and outer hulls." Harper tugged another schematic over. "See?" Dylan’s hand found the back of his neck, a thumb pressed gently into the curve of his shoulder. He shivered, looked at Dylan.

"The hell with it." Dylan turned him, hugged him hard. "Ingenious bastard, aren’t you?"

He stood there with his face pressed into Dylan’s jacket, simultaneously warmed and embarrassed. "I have my moments." Muttered it.

"If I admit that you may have been right, are you going to be insufferable?"

"Of course." But he rubbed his face on Dylan’s chest. "Am I ever anything _but_ insufferable."

Rumble of laughter in Dylan’s chest. "Frequently."

"Damn, I’m not working hard enough." 

"Beka threatened my life."

He snickered. "Are you scared?"

"Trembling." Dryly. Dylan released him, ruffled his hair. "I’ll let you get back to work." His gaze was warm. 

Harper studied him. "Did she really?"

"Well, maybe not my life. Guns were mentioned." Dylan’s mouth quirked.

Harper gaped at him. "I’ll talk to her."

"Please, don’t. The less thought she gives us, the happier I am." Dry again.

Harper flushed. "Okay."

Dylan smiled, leaned in and kissed his mouth briefly. "Stay out of trouble. I need that brain intact."

He flushed again. Whoa, somebody actually complimented his brain. Now he was afraid. "Hey, I’m on board, what trouble can I get into?"

Long look, Dylan laughed and moved back toward the door. "I’ll take that as agreement." He paused at the door, narrowed his eyes. "My quarters, off shift."

Harper swallowed hard, blinked. "We have shifts?"

"Be there." Pointedly, and Dylan was gone.

It took him fifteen minutes to get his brain back on track.

  


* * *

Hooking his toes over the rungs of the stool he was sitting on, Harper surveyed his work. It was weird, he’d been thinking in terms of leaving the Magog alive until Rommie had pointed out that it was counter to the mission plan. Which fact left him feeling a little glum, and that was weirder yet. 

Maybe it was because he was used to working around Dylan’s strictures on killing, and having Dylan reverse those strictures depressed him a little.

He didn’t want Dylan to lose the--not innocence, Dylan had been a soldier his entire adult life, he really didn’t think it was innocence, but he wasn’t sure what to call it. It wasn’t just idealism because Dylan could be a snaky bastard when he needed to be, and it wasn’t just principles, but he was damned if he could think of the word that fit.

Still, despite that, he had to admit that _he_ felt a little better since the briefing earlier in the ship’s day, since Dylan had grudgingly admitted that he might have been right. 

"Hey, Rommie?" He looked up at the ceiling. "Is there a way to sort of, um, ensure that Dylan doesn’t try to take off by himself again?"

There was a long silence.

"There’s nothing I can help you with, Harper. Theoretically, of course, you could install a failsafe program intended to notify the rest of the crew if such an action were to take place, but I’m afraid I can’t approve that."

Of course she couldn’t. He grinned. "Hmmmm. I could put a trigger in that would check to see if the rest of us were on board before you leave port."

"Theoretically." Very prim tone. "Again, Harper, let me point out to you that I can’t authorize or approve any such program."

"Oh, I know. I was just wondering." 

"Wondering what?" 

Dylan’s voice startled him and he nearly toppled the stool. "Oh, um, hi. Just about setting up trigger programs."

"Trigger programs?" Dylan walked in, leaned over the table to look at the stack of components. "For what?"

"Well, theoretically, for just about any of our automated defenses. I upgraded the drones again." Evasive maneuvers, Harper thought. "And see, I figured out how to set up the field, almost like a web of nerves." He tugged the design over.

Dylan studied it, smiled suddenly. "Very ingenious. I definitely approve."

"So did Rommie. I figure when I get the upload, I can do some serious fine-tuning." He thought about it. "Maybe I can figure out how to keep the field in an interphase state."

Dylan’s smile faded slightly. "I want you to be very careful, Harper. The Perseid came close to killing you, and what he didn’t do, the data overload might have."

Harper twitched. "Don’t worry, boss, I’m not planning on doing anything stupid." He looked at Dylan, grinned. "Too stupid, anyway."

Dylan closed his eyes briefly, sighed. "Aren’t you off shift, yet?" 

"I could be," Harper allowed. "What did you have in mind?"

Long look again. Dylan rested a hip on the table’s edge. "Well, I’d considered feeding you, entertaining you and taking advantage of you."

"You can skip the middle one if you want," Harper advised. "Taking advantage of me should take care of that anyway."

"Hmmmm." 

He looked at Dylan. "Hmmmm?"

"I’m considering it."

Harper grinned again. "I’m _definitely_ off shift then."

Satisfied look. "About time."

The conversation continued in this vein through the corridors, which was okay with Harper, and led into Dylan’s alleged vid collection, which turned out to be the ship’s vid collection, which meant he really could have his pick, assuming they actually watched anything.

Dylan really did intend to feed him, there were covered dishes on the table in Dylan’s quarters. That startled him a little; he took an uncertain step in, Dylan nudged him forward another step and the door closed behind them.

"I took a wild guess," Dylan said, his tone apologetic, "I’m afraid I’ve never paid attention to what you eat, just that you were eating."

For some reason, that let him relax. Maybe because the idea of Dylan checking out his favorite foods was sort of spooky. "I’m not a picky eater." Harper looked up at Dylan, grinned. 

Dylan grinned back. "Good." He moved toward the table, lifted a cover. "Help yourself, I’m going to get out of this jacket."

"You could get out of more if you want." Helpfully.

Dylan laughed and shook his head. "After we eat. Remember, I only said we could switch the order of entertainment and taking advantage of you."

Harper lifted another lid, peered at the contents, which were waaaaay unfamiliar. "How come this feels weird?"

"Because we’ve spent the last several weeks avoiding each other." Dylan’s tone was rueful.

Nodding, Harper studied the dish. Little greenish things, little reddish things, and something that looked like D’harin rice. He picked up a little greenish thing, bit into it. Bad, bad idea, it felt like his lips and tongue caught fire. "Owww." 

Dylan was there faster than he expected. "God, Harper, you don’t eat those by themselves."

No shit! He fanned at his mouth, never mind it had nothing to do with heat, and Dylan magically produced a cold bottle of water and a piece of flatbread. 

"Take a bite of this, quick." 

Harper reached for the water, but Dylan wasn’t having that, Dylan stuffed a bit of bread into his mouth. Almost immediately, the heat on his tongue eased, and Dylan was actually, weirdly, rubbing a bit of bread on his lips.

"Soaks up the oils. Like the rice." Matter of fact tone, not laughing at him. "Better?"

He nodded. "Wow. What _is_ that?"

"Gnirrish peppers." Dylan had somehow gotten rid of the jacket. "I take it you’ve never had this."

"And probably won’t." He scowled at the dish. 

"No, no, when you eat the stew, it’s not as... something about the red and green peppers, they blend instead of burning." Dylan scooped up a bit on the remaining flatbread. "Do you trust me?"

He regarded the flatbread warily. "With my body, yeah, with my tastebuds, I dunno."

Dylan arched an eyebrow, held out the bite. After a moment, Harper took it. His mouth did not, after all, combust, and the flavors combined were... amazing. He blinked, looked at Dylan, whose smile was entirely new. It wasn’t his amused smile, and it wasn’t his dry smile and it wasn’t his rueful smile and it wasn’t his embarrassed smile....

He was still trying to categorize when Dylan’s mouth brushed his. " _Try_ and stay out of trouble, will you, while I take my boots off?"

"Hey, you’re the one put the surprise on the table." Harper grinned again. "You know, that’s good."

"Just don’t eat--"

"Yeah, the green things by themselves." Nosing around, Harper found another piece of flatbread, scooped up another bite before trailing after Dylan. "What is this stuff, anyway?"

"It’s a kind of stew." Dylan sat down on the edge of the bed, took off his boots. "Astyra, I think."

The name was unfamiliar to Harper, which was briefly perplexing but ultimately, he decided, unimportant. He was hungry and the food was good and Dylan was relaxed, and what the hell. Eating wasn’t a bad idea after all.

On the other hand, though, there had always been something about Dylan’s feet....

"Food," Dylan said laughing. "You’re looking at me like... like I don’t know what."

He blushed, fled back to the table. "Hey, it’s not my fault, you were wiggling your toes."

"My toes?" Dylan followed him back, shook his head. "I didn’t realize you had a foot fetish."

"I don’t." He lifted another lid. "Jeez, do you eat anything I recognize?"

"That’s dessert." Dylan took the cover away from him, put it back down. "Later."

Big hands on his shoulders, and he pushed back into that, nearly whimpering as Dylan’s fingers worked on the knots in his muscles there. "Oh, wow, that’s good."

"Too many hours working up schematics," Dylan muttered and rubbed his face against Harper’s hair before letting go. "You want anything but water to drink?"

"Got any Sparky?" Harper looked back at him. 

Dylan paused on his way across the room. "Thankfully, no. I have juice, Alderan beer--"

"Water’s fine." Harper smirked, found a plate and started dishing up. "What’s this?" he asked, pointing at something that looked stranger than the rest.

Dylan returned, gave him a peculiar look. "Just ordinary Terran potatoes. A little dill, a little butter."

"Potatoes." Harper considered that. Dylan had been right about the stew, he reasoned.

Dylan found a fork, broke off a piece and held it up to him. "Try it."

What the hell, he did. Weird texture, good taste, and that was butter all right, it tasted like the real thing, and his mouth flooded with saliva. The dill, whatever that was, was good, sort of tangy, and the flavors combined delectably. "Wow, you know good food." Admiringly.

Something shadowed flickered across Dylan’s face. "I take it no potatoes on Earth?"

"I’ve heard of ‘em." He shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. "Never actually had any." Dylan offered him another bite. He flushed and took it, let Dylan put some of the things on his plate. "Where’s this vid player?"

Dylan grinned. "Over there." Pointing at the sleeping area. "Grab your water, I’ll be right there. The remote’s on the table by the bed, you can call up the ship’s library menu, figure out what you want."

Harper went, but it felt decidedly weird, sitting down on Dylan’s bed, like Dylan was suddenly going to give him that "Mr. Harper, what do you think you’re doing" look. He balanced his plate on his knees, a little nervous about dropping it, grabbed the remote, shifted the bottle of water to the table.

He scrolled through, looking for some of the vids he knew and liked; Dylan came to sit beside him, eyed him. "What?"

"You look like you’re sitting at attention." Shifting behind him, Dylan sat back against the head of his bed. "Are you _that_ nervous? I ask merely as a matter of preparation. If I have to loosen you up to take advantage of you, I want to be ready."

He blushed, hated the curse of a fair complexion. "I’m not nervous," he lied and held the remote out. "Here, you decide."

Dylan patted the spot beside him. "Come here before I decide it’s necessary to tie you to the bed to keep you from running screaming down the corridors."

Okay, he had a sense of humour, he could laugh at that, even if it did give his nervousness away. He felt better next to Dylan, if only because it reminded him of when they’d been on the Maru, sharing his quarters. Dylan thumbed the remote and a panel in the wall at the end of his bed flipped from wall to screen. 

Charmed, Harper elbowed Dylan. "How come my quarters don’t have one of those?"

"You aren’t the captain." Dylan nudged him back. "Rank has privileges." 

"That sucks." But Harper settled back as the screen came to life. "Hey, I know this one! _Blade Runner_! Man, this is soooooo old, I’ve never seen the whole thing, my copy isn’t complete."

Dylan looked pleased at that. "Ah, good choice, then."

"I can’t believe you know this one," Harper marveled happily. What the hell had he been nervous about? This was still Dylan, after all, just because it was unfamiliar territory. He leaned against Dylan’s shoulder, his eyes on the screen. "And the quality of this one--man, this is great."

"Eat," Dylan told him.

"Okay, okay." He pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged. Grinned at Dylan happily and settled in.

  


* * *

To Dylan’s secret delight, Harper had not only relaxed back to his normal state--enough to take off his boots and socks--Harper had cheered on the cause of the replicants. Not that he would have expected anything different from the man who had not only confessed to a murder he didn’t commit, but had offered to download Rommie’s core personality into his neural net to save her. When the plates were empty, he got up and left Harper watching while he returned the plates to the table; he returned to find Harper stretched out on his belly at the foot of the bed, watching intently, knees bent, ankles crossed, bare feet waving tantalizingly in the air.

Hmmm, maybe he could appreciate Harper’s fascination with that toe-wiggling thing. Sitting down on the bed, he slid his hand up under Harper’s shirt to his back and got a startled look. 

"Will you relax?" He said it lightly. "I’m just rubbing your back."

Harper grinned briefly and looked back at the screen. "I’ve never seen this part. Look at the colors." Marveling.

He kept moving his hand over smooth skin, swung his legs up on the bed and tried not to brood about the fact that Harper had never seen a dish as simple as Astyran stew, never tasted a potato, owned a partial copy of _Blade Runner_ and loved it as much as Dylan always had. This universe--he put it determinedly out of his mind; they were going to change this universe. Or at least begin the change.

Stubborn Harper. Brilliant Harper. Focused Harper. He grinned at Harper’s profile, enjoying that focus, even if it wasn’t on him. Maybe especially because it wasn’t on him at the moment; Harper-focus could be a little awe-inspiring.

Warm skin under his palm; Dylan lifted his hand, not wanting to distract that intensity. He shifted, stretched out beside Harper, chose to watch Harper’s expression rather than the screen. Young-old face, eyes wide as a child’s and older than he was himself. He couldn’t imagine what Harper’s life had been like, growing up on Earth, an Earth savaged by Magog and Nietzscheans. The marvel was that Harper had survived, body and soul, that Harper had been able to work beside Rev Bem and see him as other than Magog, that Harper could deal with Tyr. Maddening, brilliant, and quirky, learning Harper was like opening origami, each fold coming away to reveal a new shape, and for some strange reason, that gave him renewed hope. 

He contented himself with observing until the closing credits came onscreen. 

Harper was practically glowing with pleasure. "He saved her! He took her away and saved her. All right!"

There was something touching and saddening about that delight. Maybe because it told him that Harper had never seen the end of the vid before. "He did," he agreed and leaned in to kiss Harper’s mouth.

That kiss deepened and lengthened and then he was cradling Harper’s face in his hands, drinking Harper in. Harper squirmed closer, hooked a leg over Dylan’s.

He laughed into Harper’s mouth. "There’s nothing wrong with hard and fast, but I had something else in mind?"

Harper squirmed again. "Like what?"

He tipped Harper back on the bed, holding his wrists; there was the barest flinch and, oh, he hated that, leaned in and kissed Harper very gently, moved up and licked the inside of Harper’s left wrist. "Oh, like maybe mapping your body centimeter by centimeter." Moved to the other wrist, licked and nipped it, keeping his grip loose. "A good commander always knows the territory."

Harper snickered. "Don’t get any ideas about giving orders in bed."

Letting go of one wrist, he tugged Harper’s shirt up, nuzzled his belly. "In order to succeed at any mission, it’s necessary to have intimate knowledge of the situation." He licked, tasted the barest trace of salt, sucked gently. 

Harper arched up. "Oh. Right." A little breathless. "Um, far be it from me to tell you how a good commander thinks, but shouldn’t you, um, remove the obstacles to surveying the territory?"

"God, you’re impatient." Dylan licked, sucked the slight concavity of Harper’s navel, got a decided gasp and squirm of apparent pleasure.

"Hey, let’s face it, when you’re the little guy in the crowd, you have to get yours before anyone else does." Harper’s fingers tangled in Dylan’s hair. "But you can keep that up, I’m not complaining, exactly."

Dylan raised his head slightly. "There’s no one else here to get yours first." Mildly. 

Harper blinked. "Oh. Yeah." He carded Dylan’s hair. "Okay, good point."

Dylan nuzzled again. Considered and let go, sank back on his heels. "Good point about the obstacles." He peeled off his shirt and tossed it, heedless, reached for the hem of Harper’s shirt, but Harper was already peeling it off. He approved of that, stripped the rest of his own clothing and got up to get a few items from the bedside table. Harper, in the act of shedding pants and underwear, gave him a questioning look. "Almond oil," he said, holding the small bottle up, "And, of course, the necessity." He held up the tube of lubricant. "Okay?"

"Oh, yeah." Heartfelt. "But almond oil?"

"You’ll see." He grinned. "I think," he said, "You should lie on your belly."

"My belly?"

"So I can reconnoiter." He leaned in, took a kiss and got one back, Harper’s arms around his neck. Oh, temptation, but he’d promised himself this luxury, and damned if Harper didn’t need to learn about it, too. "Hey." Softly. "Let me give you a promise, okay? I’m not ever going to trick you--well, not seriously." He took another kiss. "No more seriously than, oh, say the scare you gave me with that surprise party."

Harper laughed, but he thought there was a trace of relief in it. "Fair enough." Another kiss, not quite as hungry, and Harper obliged him, stretching out flat. 

There was trust, he thought, and his throat ached a little. He leaned down and nuzzled the spot between Harper’s shoulder blades. "Perfect." He drizzled oil into his palm, let it warm between his palms before stroking it over Harper’s shoulders. He sought out the knots he’d noticed before, and Harper sighed, squirmed. 

"Hold still," he said, laughing a little. "I think the only time you’re completely still is when you’re so tired you’re practically unconscious."

Another wriggle. "Probably." But Harper sounded happy, even if he couldn’t hold still.

Dylan kissed the vulnerable nape. "Try harder."

Harper snickered. 

Gradually, though, as Dylan explored each centimeter, worked each muscle, Harper _did_ still, and that in itself seemed a statement of trust and comfort. Despite his obsession, they’d come a long way in twenty-four hours. One helluva long way, and damned if he wasn’t grateful. Even with the almond oil, he could taste the faintest salt of Harper’s skin, slid his hands up and down the muscles of Harper’s back, one hand on each side of the bumps of vertebrae. Harper sighed again, and he shifted lower, kissed the small of Harper’s back before kneading the firm muscles of Harper’s ass. Harper shivered, but kept still, and he felt affection overwhelm him. Long strokes down the back of Harper’s thighs, and there were tight muscles there, too. Amazing how one compact shape could hold that much tension, he thought and shifted further, stroked oil into Harper’s calves, over the jut of anklebones, along the curve of Harper’s soles. Harper’s feet, like the rest of Harper, were smaller than his. He smiled suddenly, kissed the inside of Harper’s left ankle. Like most of the rest of Harper, rather; there wasn’t anything small about Harper’s cock. He slid his hands back up, gently tugged and Harper rolled over obligingly.

And oh, god, Harper’s face was wet, it worried him. He cupped Harper’s face, licked salt traces. "Hey."

"I’m good, I’m good." Shakily. "It’s just... you know, nobody ever did this."

He kissed Harper, long and deep. "You okay?"

"I’m good." Earnestly.

He rested his forehead against Harper’s. "Good." Softly. And then, when Harper smiled, he sank back on his heels again, drizzled more oil into his hands. Harper’s eyes closed halfway, he sighed again as Dylan’s hands moved over his chest, shivered when Dylan licked the inside of his elbow.

Harper’s cock was flushed and thickening; Dylan ignored it for the moment, concentrated on Harper’s belly, his hips, his thighs. No longer still, Harper moved under his hands, making small sounds of want and pleasure in his throat.

He shifted to kneel between Harper’s legs, leaned down to take Harper into his mouth. Firm and growing harder, and he stroked the head with his tongue; he knew what pleased him and used it on Harper, tasted bitter salt. 

"God, Dylan." Breathless, not quite pained. "God, please."

He drew back, kissed the seam between thigh and hip. "Time for me to hurry up a little?"

"Yes." Almost a hiss. "I want you in me."

He took in a shaky breath, remembering the sweet clench of Harper’s body. Found the tube and moved up, stretching out. This was one time when the height difference worked nicely; he slid his leg under Harper’s, lifted it and reached down between Harper’s legs with lube-slicked fingers. Harper shuddered, slid an arm under his neck and turned blindly for his mouth. 

Tight heat, and he teased a little, loosening the tightness gradually before sliding his finger in and searching. Harper gasped into his mouth, clutched tighter and pushed down.

He took in Harper’s breath, gave back one of his own, and stroked Harper inside. "Is that good?" 

"Oh, god!" Harper twisted against him. 

He reckoned that for a definite yes, licked his way into a kiss and slipped another finger in. More writhing, more needful sounds and then Harper’s fingers were in his hair, Harper pulled away from the kiss. "If you don’t go faster, I swear--I have a gun and I know how to use it." 

It so nearly echoed Beka’s threat that Dylan couldn’t help laughing. Another hungry kiss and he rolled to his back, bringing Harper with him. Brief blissful look and Harper had the tube, was slicking him up with a firm hand and hell if that didn’t push him closer to the edge. Hell, just looking at Harper’s face was enough to push him closer.

Having Harper simply screw himself down onto Dylan’s cock was damn near too much, especially with that expression; he had to grab Harper’s hips to hold him still for a moment, and then god, he surged up into Harper and Harper’s head tilted back, showing him the lines of tendon and throat. He had to pull Harper’s hands away, wrapped one of his own around Harper and stroked upward.

Harper was so frantic--and for that matter, so was he--that there were a few false starts before he set the rhythm that worked for both of them; he tried to slow things down, but Harper leaned down and sucked on his mouth, and he gave up, surrounded by Harper, surrendered to Harper. Hot and sweet, and how had he managed to forget that it had been more than Harper’s body that had drawn him, that it had been Harper himself, spirit and heart and courage and hunger....

Harper cried out, pulsed in his hand and that pushed him off the cliff, he came just as loudly, his other hand on Harper’s hip, holding him. Somehow, he remembered to gentle down and Harper gasped, said something he couldn’t make out. 

He didn’t care, he tugged Harper down, savoring the heat, the mess, the solid warmth of Harper’s body against his. Harper melted into him, panting into his throat, and he groaned, cupped the back of Harper’s head, fingers moving in short, silky hair. 

It took a while to recover; he just held on until his heart slowed, until he could breathe again, and Harper burrowed, whimpered as Dylan softened and slipped free. "S’all right," Dylan told him blurrily. "I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you."

A sigh against his skin. "Good." Very faintly.

He drifted then, roused enough to pull a blanket over both of them. Harper wasn’t heavy enough to be uncomfortable and there, that was another benefit of the differences in height and weight. 

"Oh." Very softly. "That’s good." 

It was, he thought, and damned if he didn’t think it was time he allowed himself to have it. Instead of answering, he rubbed his cheek against Harper’s hair, let himself fall off the edge of awareness and into sleep.

  


* * *

Harper woke from a dream of circuitry, sat bolt upright, holding the image in his mind. He had to get it down, now, before the details faded; he looked at Dylan, blamelessly asleep, his arm still curved around Harper’s spot. He rubbed his chin, his mind still on the circuitry, swung his legs over the edge of the bed and started hunting for his clothes.

Dylan was asleep, wouldn’t miss him, and he really, really wanted to get this down; he looked over his shoulder guiltily and saw Dylan had put his hand out, as if seeking him, even asleep. With any luck, he’d be back before his side of the bed got cold, and anyway, Dylan would understand. At least he hoped so. And he didn’t want to try and rifle through Dylan’s private belongings in search of the stuff he needed, always assuming Dylan _had_ the stuff he needed; he had what he needed in his own quarters, and hell, he hadn’t brought clean clothes anyway, so what the hell.

Ten minutes later, he had the schematic sketched out and was filling in details from practical experience with nanobots. Phase shift, he thought absently, and this little control here would keep things interphase, he thought, but the hows and whys of powering the sucker hadn’t come to him yet. More details, more fine-tuning, and then he’d gotten as far as he could go. Looked up at his chron to find that more than two hours had passed as he worked.

Oh, shit. He stuck the schematic under his arm, scrambled for clean clothes and assorted necessities, and then headed back toward Dylan’s quarters. 

Standing outside the door, he wondered if Dylan had coded the privacy lock to allow Harper to enter it, swallowed hard and said. "Um, Rommie?"

After a moment, "Yes, Harper."

His face was scarlet, he could feel the heat. "Um, could you let me back into Dylan’s quarters?"

There was a moment of silence, and the door opened. Suddenly nervous, he stepped inside, heard the shower running and saw that Dylan’s bed was empty.

Oh, shit.

The door closed behind him, and he hung fire, trying to decide whether retreat was smarter or dumber. The shower went off before he could decide, so he stood there like a moron as Dylan emerged from the bathroom, toweling himself off.

There was still a chance of escape for a heartbeat; Dylan hadn’t looked up to see him.

But hey, he had a rule, he only ran when it really was smarter, and even that depended on whether or not his Irish was up. So he coughed, started forward, and nearly gave Dylan a heart attack from the way Dylan jumped.

A stream of Vedran, some of which he recognized as being very bad language and then Dylan growled, "I thought you were in your quarters!"

Harper blinked. "God, and you kissed me with that mouth."

Dylan’s mouth twitched. "You just startled me out of the next ten years of my life." 

"I don’t like the sound of that." Relieved, Harper walked up to him, leaned up as Dylan leaned down. Warm mouth, and, yeah, Dylan wasn’t mad at him, Dylan was just startled. "I had a dream," he told Dylan. "That’s not fair, you got to shower and I was working." He handed the schematic to Dylan, who put the towel around his neck and looked at it, frowning a little. "I think it’s part of a device that’ll handle phase shift and even hold between."

Swift, startled look. "You _dreamed_ this?"

Harper shrugged. "I get some of my best ideas in dreams." He grinned suddenly, dropped the rest of his stuff on a chair and sat down on the bed to take off his boots. "Don’t you?"

Dylan rolled his eyes, looked back at the schematic. "Evidently not. The last idea I got from a dream got some pretty strenuous objections from you, among others."

Oh. He winced. "Oh. Yeah."

Brief smile and Dylan sat down, still studying the drawing. "What’s the power source?"

"Dunno, yet." Harper nudged him. "I have to admit, my dream ideas don’t usually turn out this well, you need to do what you did to me earlier again. Maybe I’ll figure out the power source."

Dylan opened his mouth. Closed it. 

"Hey, I read somewhere that great sex stimulates creativity." Harper nudged him again. "Or I could do it to you."

This time, he was reasonably certain that certain synapses were frying; Dylan’s eyes got a distant, slightly glazed look. "Mmmm."

Shimmying out of his pants and shirt, Harper eyed Dylan, noting that glazed expression with delight. "So?"

"Mmmm." Dylan looked back at the schematic. "I think that actually sounds like a damn good idea. Put this in a safe place."

"Naturally." Harper took it, strolled naked back into the other side of Dylan’s quarters and put it on the table. After a moment of consideration, he collected the dish that allegedly held dessert, grabbed a spoon and strolled back, getting a touch of exhibitionist thrill at the expression on Dylan’s face.

At least until Dylan noticed the dish. "You’re eating?" 

"Gotta keep my energy level up. Took a lot of energy to hold still." He got into bed and leaned against the pillows, patted Dylan’s. "Come here."

Dylan arched an eyebrow, but obliged, stretching out on his side, elbow bent, head propped on his hand.

Harper took a bite of the whatever it was. Burst of sweetness and tartness and something that probably should be crisper and crunchier, but had gotten a little soggy while they slept. It tasted of fruit and butter and spices and like nothing he’d ever eaten, despite visiting restaurants on several score worlds. "Mmmmm." He looked at Dylan, wide-eyed, got a lazy grin. "What _is_ this?"

"It’s a kind of bread pudding with fruit and a sweet sauce. Hey, let me have a bite."

Harper spooned up some, held it out. Dylan looked at the spoon, accepted the mouthful. "Mmmmhmmm."

"You really know the good stuff," Harper told him and took another bite for himself. 

Dylan laughed, "This was my favorite dessert, even when I was a kid."

Harper tried to imagine Dylan as a kid, failed completely. "What was it like?"

"The pudding?" Dylan sounded confused.

"No, being a kid on Tarn-Vedra." Harper offered Dylan another bite, waited patiently while Dylan thought about it.

"I don’t know how to tell you," Dylan finally said. "I didn’t think of it as being anything but home. The human quarter was the newest part of the city, naturally, and I remember being conscious of the age and the history surrounding me, but that didn’t come until I was older." He smiled faintly. "My mother was gone a lot of the time, and I think my father probably indulged me a little more than he should have when I was small. Naturally, I repaid him by showing no interest in botany or horticulture and wanting desperately to be part of the High Guard."

Harper took another bite. "Was he mad?" Dylan grinned, tried to take the spoon. Harper jerked it back, scooped up another bite and offered it. "You have to share."

Dylan took the bite, laughing silently. "No, he was very supportive, even if it wasn’t exactly his dream to have a son in the High Guard. My mother wasn’t pleased, exactly, but she still managed to be supportive once she realized that was _my_ dream."

Harper nodded, took another bite for himself, dipping the spoon deeper into the sticky sauce. It was weird, trying to imagine other people’s childhoods; he had enough trouble keeping his own memories locked away. "What were the shipyards like? As good as Beka thinks?"

"Better." Dylan tried to dip a finger in the dish, managed to come away with a chunk of fruit. 

Harper tried to imagine better, and this time he succeeded. The very idea made him shiver with a different kind of desire. "Wow."

Dylan took that opportunity to steal the spoon from him. "You _are_ in lust with my ship. I thought Beka was exaggerating."

Teasing him, but Harper blushed anyway. Launched an offensive to get the spoon back, and managed only to get another bite. Okay, it seemed normal to feed Dylan bites, but weird to have Dylan feed him bites. What was that about, he wondered and put a finger in the sauce, sucked it clean.

Dylan, god, smoldered at him and the dish nearly got tipped over. Charmed, Harper did it again.

"If you keep that up, you’re definitely going to get what you got before," Dylan warned.

"Oh, like I wouldn’t want that to happen," Harper jeered. "I’m so scared."

Dylan’s eyes went heavy-lidded on him. "I’m going to have to think of some way to discourage this behavior.’

"Yeah, right." Leaning in, Harper licked Dylan’s mouth and jerked back before Dylan could grab him.

Dylan grabbed him anyway, and rather than spill food all over Dylan’s bed, he let himself be grabbed--oh, yeah, like that was the only reason--and ended up sitting against the curve of Dylan’s body with Dylan’s mouth over his, Dylan’s hand on his inner thigh, and a serious case of the I-Wants starting.

Dylan released his mouth, licked delicately underneath Harper’s upper lip and leaned back again. "Two can play this game." Laughing softly.

"I’m not hungry any more." Harper tried to get up, got tugged back.

"I am," Dylan told him, eyes glinting. Took another bite and grinned.

The only good thing was that between the two of them, the damn dish was emptying fast. The next question was what Harper really wanted. He actually kind of liked the idea of returning the favor, even if Dylan’s size was just a touch intimidating. "I have to work harder if I’m gonna explore you, there’s more of you to explore." He tried to tug the spoon from Dylan’s grasp, but Dylan only laughed and fed him another bite. 

"We have to keep your strength up," Dylan told him.

Okay, weird, but kind of fun anyway. He let himself be fed, finally got the spoon and fed Dylan and naturally, it was unavoidable that some of the sauce got on him, which led to the predictable result. Holding him down, Dylan licked it off him, which not only felt hot, but tickled in places, and he couldn’t help laughing wildly when Dylan took that as permission to continue tickling him.

The dish went on the floor with the spoon, and then he was on top of Dylan, holding Dylan’s wrists down and feeling--feeling weirdly shaky and a lot happier than he knew he could feel. Dangerous, dangerous, but hell, hadn’t he wished for it? Long, slow kisses, and Dylan might have awakened to find him gone, but Dylan clearly wasn’t pissed off about it, Dylan was clearly glad he was back, and that was damn good to know.

He let go of Dylan’s wrist and Dylan rubbed Harper’s stomach, smiling up at him. "I think I may have a new favorite dessert." 

Harper snickered. "Me?"

Dylan grinned. "Harper with spice sauce."

He snickered again. "Your tastes have changed."

"Somehow, I think I’m relieved I don’t have to explain this to my father." Dylan shifted beneath him, rubbed his stomach again.

He considered that. "Because of me?" Bluntly.

"Because," Dylan said gently, "I’m old fashioned, I still believe there are some things better not discussed with one’s parents, and licking spice sauce off my engineer and lover is one of them. Besides," he added, that glint back in his eye, "my father might have tried to convince you to hold still for having warm spice sauce poured over you. He tended to indulge me a bit, I told you. Didn’t you ever worry about telling things to your parents?"

"Yeah, but I was only a kid." Harper traced circles on Dylan’s chest. Dylan was hairier than he was and the hair felt both silky and coarse. "Last time I saw ‘em anyway."

The glint left Dylan’s eyes. "What happened?"

Harper shrugged. "Nietzscheans. Some kind of punishment raid, somebody did something stupid to one of them. My dad saw ‘em coming, and there was this... I dunno, like a hidey-hole under the floor. He stuck me in there, threatened to beat the hide off me if I moved or made a sound. He, um, sometimes he had a bad temper, so I believed him, I kept quiet even when I heard the guns and the screaming outside in the street." 

Dylan rubbed his stomach again. "How old were you?" Softly.

"I think I was about eleven. I, uh, kinda lost track of birthdays after that." Harper shrugged again. "Anyway, I fell asleep eventually, and when I finally dared come out, I found out they’d cleared the whole block, killed everyone. I managed to get to another part of the city. Lotta kids there, hanging out, living in the alleys and the squats, and I ended up hooking up with some of them."

Dylan’s mouth tightened. "Eleven." 

He looked at Dylan warily. "Yeah. You aren’t going to get all weirded out, are you?" He leaned down, rested his arms on Dylan’s chest and his chin on his arms. "Because if you are, I think it’s time for more of that almond oil, only I’m gonna use it on you."

Dylan had moved his hand, rested it on Harper’s back. "Now that sounds like a good idea. I approve. Not only ingenious asleep, but awake."

Relieved, Harper nuzzled. "Yup. The Harper is good."

"The Harper is very good." Dylan’s hand slid lower, cupped his ass. "Shall I roll over?"

"Not with me on top." Chiding, but Harper couldn’t keep it up, he nuzzled again, rolled away and found the oil on the bedside table. "Now you can."

Quick grin and Dylan obliged. Nice view, definitely, and maybe he was dreaming all this, but he sure as hell didn’t want to wake up. The oil smelled good, he let it warm, moved to straddle Dylan’s back. "Twice as much area," he said, mock-complaining. "What the hell did they feed you, anyway?"

Dylan chuckled. "Well, part of it’s from my mother. She was tall and long-boned, from a heavy-g planet. My father was fairly tall, too, but slender. It’s probably the reason I mostly held my own against the Mossadim woman." Dylan sighed, relaxed under him. "You’re going to spoil me."

It was such a novel thought that Harper paused. _He_ was going to spoil Dylan? He wished. Hoped. Maybe he could. At least a little bit. His hands began to move again, stroking the oil into Dylan’s skin. "Almond oil?"

"It’s edible." Dry tone.

He felt his skin get hot as that comment filtered through his brain and to his body. "Oh, cool." Leaning down, he licked, nipped and Dylan made a lazy sound in his throat. Somehow, he wasn’t sure he was going to make it all the way through this exploration, not the way Dylan deserved, not with this much warm, naked Dylan underneath him. Still, he gave it his best shot, worked muscles and soothed skin, tasted it all the way down to the curve of Dylan’s ass. Drizzled oil directly, and Dylan made another soft sound, shifted. God, Dylan’s skin felt hot and smooth here, he stroked the oil into the cleft and Dylan actually pushed up into his touch.

"Harper?" Husky voice. "I think I’m a little too impatient to wait."

Harper felt like an android whose core database had just crashed. He stroked the oil again, felt the beat of his pulse all the way down to his cock, slid his hand down to cup the soft weight of Dylan’s balls.

"Harper?" A little impatient and Dylan raised his head, peered over his shoulder. 

He rubbed his thumb on the smooth skin behind, heard a strangled sound, couldn’t think past what he wanted to do. Oh. Yeah. Lube, he needed some of that. Didn’t he? Would oil work? 

"Do it." Almost harshly.

He scrambled for the lube at that, breaking out of stasis, knelt between Dylan’s legs and managed to tease a little before another growl warned him that Dylan wasn’t kidding about his lack of patience. Hot and tight and Dylan pushed against him, and god, god, god, he’d never known what this was like before. Sure, he wasn’t stupid, he’d figured it had to be good, but nobody had ever warned him what it was like, that connection he’d never had with anyone before, and maybe it was just that it was Dylan, he didn’t know. Once he was in, all the way, his belly against oil-slick skin, he had to stop, take in a breath and think fixedly of the time he’d had to fix the Maru’s waste processor.

Dylan growled again and pushed against him. Hell if he was going to disappoint, he moved, pushed in, pulled back, and Dylan had braced himself on his forearms, tilted his head back and met each move with his own until they’d managed a rhythm. He wanted slow and sweet, resisted Dylan’s impatience just that far, and got a hand under Dylan to grip Dylan’s cock. God, hard and leaking and he used that to slick his hand, used the motion he used on himself and hoped it worked for Dylan as well as it worked for him.

And then, he couldn’t do slow any more, it felt too good, and he wanted it to feel good for Dylan, wanted Dylan to feel that same connection, hoped and wished and then he was past thinking into free fall, nothing but sensation, the grip of Dylan’s flesh on him pushing them both over the edge. Dylan groaned and pushed into his fist, and then, god, got tighter yet and that was it, that was all he could do and he simply exploded, just hammering himself into that warm, welcoming flesh.

He collapsed on Dylan, a happy, brain-dead mess. Nuzzled the bits of skin under his cheek, used his hand to stroke Dylan’s side. Dylan was still shuddering a little, making noises that could make a guy feel smug. 

Really smug, except Dylan reached out for him with one hand, and he took it, laced their fingers together. Little squeeze, that was all, and he rubbed his cheek on Dylan again. "Okay?" Huskily.

"Mmmmm." Another squeeze. "Better than that." Almost drowsily.

He felt drowsy, too. That wouldn’t do, they’d both wake up uncomfortable. Besides, he was softening anyway, he shifted carefully and heard Dylan make a regretful sound. Oh, yeah, he knew that feeling. Dylan’s towel was at the foot of the bed; he snagged it; when Dylan rolled over, he used it for cleanup, took it back into the bathroom to put into the chute and washed himself up. 

The guy in the mirror looked flushed and like he’d just gotten laid and almost scarily happy about it. Where was post-coital tristesse when he needed it. He grinned at the mirror and went back to the bed, where Dylan just pulled him down and rolled them both under the bedclothes, safely away from the damp spot.

God, he loved the way Dylan kissed, loved the fact that Dylan liked to kiss, not just before and during, but after. Even half-zoned from good sex, Dylan kissed, and hell if he had any complaints about that. He kissed back. 

"You realize," Dylan muttered into his throat, finally, "I’m going to expect more productive dreaming after this."

He couldn’t help snickering. "Oh, yeah?"

"Well, if you’re going to be demanding, you’re going to have to produce." More sucking on his neck, a delicate touch on the other side, right around his port.

If he hadn’t just had a tactical strike of an orgasm, he’d be coming now, he thought, shivering in pleasure. "Do my best, boss."

Another kiss on his mouth. "You always do." Dylan fumbled for the control, turned the light down. "Do I need to cuff you to me?"

He grinned in the dark, wrapped himself around Dylan. "Nah, I brought my stuff."

More nibbling, this time on his ear. "Good."

And then, it was okay to just let go, to soak in the warmth, and let go.

So he did.

  


* * *

"Okay, so, lets get this thing hooked up and ready to go." Harper looked up from his final check of connections to see Beka and Dylan _both_ eyeing him with a certain degree of worry. "Hey, it’s gotta be easier than having it _all_ dumped by an electrically charged Perseid."

"Trance, monitor him very closely. First sign of trouble, we abort." Dylan’s eyebrows drew together. "Harper, I’m serious, if you so much as _twitch_ , we’re done here."

Beka, at least, looked relieved. Grateful look at Dylan and a nod at him. Harper reflected that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to have both of them hovering over him, one of them was bad enough. Rolling his eyes, he hoisted himself to the medtable, took the input lead from Trance.

"Be smart, Harper," Trance whispered and went back to the medical console. "Beka, a little help here?"

Hah. His Trance beat Beka’s Dylan anyway, he thought, trying not to grin. Trance’d keep Beka distracted; maybe he should have bribed Tyr to distract Dylan. Truth was, though, he was a little nervous. He knew he’d designed the damn thing, but his memory was a little fuzzy on how he’d set up access; with luck, he could figure it out quickly. "I’m waaaaaiiiting," he told Trance.

Trance adjusted some of her settings at the console. "Go."

He slid the lead into his port, closed his eyes and fell into the virtual world. Stark and severe compared to Rommie’s inner world, but the directories were easy enough to read. Somehow, he’d had the good sense to dump the data back with the same organization it’d had when the Perseid dumped it into his neural net, and ah, there, there, that was the directory he wanted, and there was another. Both were parts of the whole, and of course Dylan was still worried about the nature of the entity--well, hell, they all were, so while he was uploading, he started a search on anything that resembled a mention of the damn thing.

Oh, wow, _now_ he had a good idea for how to power his phase shift control, this was the upside of the whole thing, he loved _knowing_ things, knowing how to make them, build them, create them. Great, great, and yeah, he needed more weapons design, and his search completed, he uploaded the relevant files along with the rest... and suddenly, he was flung free....

His face stung, he surfaced dizzily to find Trance and Dylan leaning over him. "Harper?" Tight voice, not quite angry.

"‘M good." He grinned loopily at Dylan. "What did you guys do?"

"We had to interrupt the upload," Trance said worriedly. "Harper, you’ve been in there a long time."

His head ached a little, but not bad. Leaning up on one elbow, Harper looked at the chron. Whoa, nearly three hours. "I got some good stuff, really good stuff."

Dylan’s mouth was a thin line. "How do you feel?"

Harper pushed himself upright, swayed a little. Dylan grabbed him by the upper arms. "No, no, I’m good, just a little fuzzy."

"Does your head ache?" Trance was worried still. "Harper, what were you _doing_?"

"I was doing a search, that’s all. Took a while. Lots and lots of stuff to search through." His fingers itched to be working. "I think I know how to power that control, it’s a piece of cake. I just have to tie it into the slipstream core."

Dylan’s eyes widened. "Harper."

"No, it’s safe, honest. Little complicated, but safe, and we don’t have to actually be in slipstream." He felt another goofy grin take shape. "This is going to kick some serious ass. I think I know how to set up a kind of electromagnetic trap, too."

Dylan let go of his arms. "A trap for what?"

His delight turned feral. "A trap for a thing with red eyes, boss. Let me up, I gotta get to work."

Dylan didn’t look happy. "Trance?"

"His brain activity has increased a little, but nothing like it was when he had the entire library stored." Trance still didn’t sound entirely happy. "I’ve never run a scan on him when he’s inspired, it could be nothing more than the kind of activity he has during one of his creative bursts."

In spite of his idealism, Dylan was pragmatic, Dylan had agreed to let him do this. He held Dylan’s worried gaze, arched his eyebrows. "‘M okay, honest."

Dylan sighed, looked at Beka. "This is a good time for a first officer’s opinion."

"Is there ever a bad time?" Beka came around to study him. "Seamus, the first sign of overload, you quit, you report to Trance, and you don’t bullshit us. You pulled in more than I expected."

He rolled his eyes again. "Let me get to work. Sooner I get done, sooner I can dump what I don’t need."

Dylan nodded, looking no happier. "All right. But Beka gave you an order, keep it in mind."

He rolled his eyes again, slid off the table. "Gotcha." Crooked grin. "I’m gonna start with that damn device, it’s been driving me nuts trying to conceptualize."

Dylan nodded. Dylan wouldn’t touch him in front of the others, he knew that and actually found it reassuring. Private was private, and business was business, and it was good they could manage that. So he headed off, trailed by Trance, ideas tumbling in his brain like a set of Kirachi dice.

  


* * *

"I still don’t like it." Beka folded her arms and scowled at him.

"Neither," Dylan said shortly, "Do I. What choice have we got?"

Her scowl deepened. "How did he talk you into this?"

"Cracking his skull on the escape pod was evidence of the seriousness of his intention." Dylan rubbed his face, turned to leave med-deck. "Think of it as the irresistible force meeting the immovable object."

"Not completely immovable." But her expression shifted. "As long as you’re worried, I’m okay. You’ll watch him closer than any of us." 

"Worried isn’t the word," he said absently and walked out. In the corridor, he hesitated. Watching Harper work wasn’t going to help; Trance was there, he had his own work to do, and it was still damned frustrating.

Sometimes he wondered whether Harper’s determination wasn’t at least partly related to the pure desire for knowledge. One of the things that had kept him from throttling Harper a dozen times over was that thirst and hunger, that need to know, to learn. Harper was a damned genius, and like others Dylan had known, was quirky, demanding, annoying, creative, and seriously vulnerable; that vulnerability was part and parcel of growing up without much formal education and a questing mind, and while he admired that, it also drove him crazy.

Beka fell into step beside him. "He’s not stupid, Dylan."

"That’s part of the problem." He sighed, glanced at her. "Sorry."

"Being smart is part of the problem?" She sounded a little baffled.

"He knows he doesn’t know everything, and sometimes, he’s not too careful about how he learns." 

Her mouth quirked. "I didn’t know you saw that about him. I swear, sometimes I worry he’d sell himself into slavery if it let him learn something he wants to know."

He nodded blankly. _That_ was a possibility he didn’t even want to think about. "God."

"Nope, just Harper." Cheerfully. "I know, I know. You worry about him. He makes me nuts, but so do I."

"He’s not a kid, he can make his own decisions." Why did he sound like he was trying to convince himself?

"He’s about thirty, I’d say so." Her grin wasn’t entirely reassuring.

"Right." He lengthened his strides toward the command deck. Keeping busy would help. He thought.

Beka laughed softly. "Want me to go and keep an eye on him?"

"Yes." He looked at her again. "Very much."

She mock-saluted, patted his arm. "You got it." Peeled away down a side corridor, still laughing softly.

He couldn’t even resent the laughter. Not when he knew she was laughing at herself as well.

  


* * *

Beka and Trance helped him with the grunt work on getting the power hookup to the phase control. That done, he started churning out the little terminals that would be installed by the little drones Andromeda used between the inner and outer hull. While those were being processed, he started working on the schematic for his trap, and Beka finally got tried of trying to figure it out and went back, he thought, to the command deck.

Trance hung around for a while, and that was okay with Harper. It was not only nice to have someone to hand stuff to him, it helped him work things out if he talked them through. Eventually, though, Trance decided his brain wasn’t going to implode or anything, and left to go reassure Dylan and Beka.

Tyr appeared a while after, by which he guessed somebody up on command deck still wasn’t convinced. Maybe two somebodies, actually. So he put Tyr to work, mostly fetching and carrying, but not exclusively; Tyr wasn’t an engineer, but he had a Nietzschean’s twisted mind and lots of tech knowledge gained during his career as an assassin and mercenary. It was Tyr who came up with the idea of putting in multiple sets of anchoring terminals so that distance became no issue in springing the trap. 

Tyr eventually tired of being dog’s body and left him alone. That was okay, too, now that he was back into the theoretical. Lots and lots to do, and his brain was cooking but good. He had finished four schematics and was tinkering with yet another when Dylan finally came looking for him. 

"You’re off shift." Dylan sounded grumpy. "Stop working."

He peered up at Dylan. "Oh. I lost track of time."

Dylan leaned down on the table, studied the design. "You wore Beka and Trance _and_ Tyr out. I’m worried."

Okay, Dylan wasn’t grumpy, Dylan was worrying. "I’m okay," he insisted. "Trance scanned me practically all day. I just wanted to get this stuff down while it was still hot." He shoved the stylus and the schematic away. "And like I said, I lost track of time."

Dylan turned his head, looked directly at him. Oh, yeah, there was worry there. A lot of it. "Really?" 

It was a personal tone, not the captain’s tone. He leaned in, rested his forehead against Dylan’s. "Really."

Dylan let out a relieved breath. "I want you to report to med-deck again in the morning. I just need to _know_ that you’re okay."

"You don’t believe me?"

Dylan raised a hand to Harper’s face. "I believe I remember someone who didn’t bother to report he was coughing up blood while he was finishing my damned FMS."

Oh. It was both warming and annoying. "Good point."

Dylan’s mouth curved. "Yes."

He pulled back, grinned. "I’m hungry."

"I thought you might be." Dryly. "You haven’t eaten since breakfast."

"I haven’t?" He was honestly surprised. "You’re right, I haven’t."

"Get some clothes for tomorrow and meet me in my quarters?" Dylan’s voice suggested rather than ordered, and he heard a hint of uncertainty.

He nodded, arched his eyebrows. "You sure you want to put up with me again?"

Long level look. "I thought I’d made that fairly clear. Obviously, I need to work more on clarity in communication."

Okay, that was it, he couldn’t stand it. He grabbed the front of Dylan’s jacket and pulled Dylan down for a kiss. "Quit worrying."

Dylan nuzzled in return. "I’m doing my best, dammit. Last time--"

"Last time, Jeger was point man for that thing. Jeger’s space dust." Harper slid off the stool. "Meet you there."

Dylan studied him. "I’ll come looking for you if you aren’t there in ten minutes."

Harper grinned. "You won’t have to."

Flicker of relief. "Good." Dylan touched his face again before leaving. 

Harper watched him go, felt a stupid grin trying to take shape on his face. "Shape up," he told himself, but himself didn’t seem to want to listen. Grabbing the stylus and his comp-pad--somehow, he didn’t think Dylan was going to be quite so understanding if he vanished again in the middle of the night--he headed for his quarters, picked up the necessities and made it back to Dylan’s quarters before the ten minutes was up.

"Toldja," he said cheerfully when the door opened.

Dylan, already in a minor state of undress, yanked him in and let the door shut behind him. Long hard kiss and then Dylan grinned. "I’ve been wanting to do that for hours."

It was hard to stand up for a minute. "Me, too," he said weakly. It was mostly true. If he’d been thinking about Dylan, he would have been wanting to do that for hours. Maybe it was a good thing he hadn’t been. Did it mean, he wondered, that Dylan had been thinking about him? Duh. He got rid of the stuff he was carrying and made a determined effort to shove Dylan against the wall in turn. No problem, Dylan was all over that idea, but the difference in height meant they more or less sliding to the floor.

He wasn’t complaining, not lying on top of Dylan; he wasn’t even complaining when Dylan rolled them both over and Dylan was on top of him, he just wrapped his legs around Dylan happily and tugged Dylan’s shirt up so he could get to warm skin.

Dylan returned the favor, and while Harper had no idea how either of them managed it, they were down to Harper’s pants and boots and Dylan’s pants in mere seconds. 

God, he’d had more sex in the last few days than he’d had for months before that. And oh, yeah, Dylan wasn’t lying, he liked it hard and fast, too, and that was just dandy as far as he, Seamus Zelazny Harper, was concerned. Even if he was starting to believe each time wasn’t going to be the last. 

Dylan made quick work of Harper’s boots, and then his pants, and he was fumbling with Dylan’s when Dylan got impatient and batted his hands away, and that just plain cracked him up. Laughing helplessly, he watched Dylan, oh, yeah, peel off those damn uniform pants and then it was all up close and personal and yeah, yeah, yeah, hot.

Except even fast and hard, Dylan was mapping him, exploring him, and he found himself panting, his fingers in Dylan’s hair as Dylan worked his way down. Nearly screamed when Dylan swallowed him down and oh, god, worked him hard and fast and he was going to last no time at all, which wasn’t quite what he meant when he thought about hard and fast, fast and hard, and hell if he cared with Dylan’s mouth on him. Heat and wet and the occasional tease of the danger of Dylan’s teeth, firm hard grip at the base of him, and he came so hard he thought he’d either black out or get a nosebleed, only he didn’t. He just screamed for real, screamed and arched up and came for what seemed like forever....

And Dylan gentled his mouth down, but didn’t release him right away and he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. God, he was dying, and what a great way to go, it beat any other method the universe had suggested to him during his years of life. 

He tugged at Dylan’s hair, not completely gentle about it, and Dylan released him, shifted up to kiss his mouth, and that was pretty damn hot, too, tasting himself on Dylan’s tongue. Dylan’s cock was hard against his hip, he reached down and gripped it. "Do me."

Dylan’s pupils dilated. "Yeah?" Husky voice.

"Oh, yeah." He purred it, licked the inside of Dylan’s mouth. "Do me."

Heh. Dylan was up and back in minutes with the lube. Dylan was careful, almost too careful, but then it was okay, Dylan pushed into him and, god, even though he wasn’t going to get it up again anytime soon, it felt good, felt too damn good, and Dylan was over him, in him, around him, and damned if he hadn’t been wrong, his cock twitched anyway. Good thing about this was getting to concentrate on Dylan’s pleasure, like Dylan had on his, and he loved watching Dylan’s control go, watching Dylan’s face change to that effortful expression, pleasure so intense that Dylan’s eyes closed. And then Dylan was getting close, breathing harsh in Harper’s ear, Harper had his legs wrapped tight, and he loved it that Dylan was on the noisy side, Dylan didn’t do the strong silent thing in bed, and that thought came close to cracking him up, but then Dylan was just at the right angle and for a minute he really thought _he_ was going to come again, and then he knew it, and when Dylan did, he lost it again, came, but not as hard, and it was still so damn good.

Dylan groaned and tried not to rest his weight, but Harper pulled him down, sucked hard on Dylan’s throat, returning the favor. He’d had to wear two shirts to keep the outer collar up and hiding Dylan’s contributions, and hell, Dylan’s collar would cover this, and Dylan suddenly realized he was doing it and dove in for revenge.

They were both laughing a little, and then there were more kisses and that regretful moment where bodies had to separate whether you wanted them to or not.

Shifting to his side, Dylan smiled lazily. "You’re dangerous."

"Me?" He blinked innocently. "Blame the victim, why don’t you. I was just minding my own business, thinking of food--" But he couldn’t sustain innocence for long. "So are you."

Dylan smirked at him. "Good."

"Can we eat in bed again?" Harper yawned suddenly.

"Why not." Dylan stretched against him and sat up. "How about a soak first?"

"Sure. But we’ll only get messy again." He let himself be tugged up; he’d discovered that morning that captain’s privileges extended to a tub behind the shower stall, a tub with hot water jets, a luxury he’d read about, but never seen. "Can I turn on the jets?"

Dylan smiled, touched the tip of Harper’s nose. "If you want to. Hell, I’ll even let you put bathsalts in if you want."

Oh, boy. It was starting to look like Seamus Zelazny Harper had finally gotten lucky. Unfortunately, that meant the universe would be out to get him. Better live it up while he could. "You have ‘em?"

Dylan was still laughing when they reached the bathroom.

  


* * *

Sex, a hot bath and a huge meal and Harper was out. Completely, undeniably out. Leaning across Harper’s sleeping self, Dylan turned the lights off, and then settled next to Harper, sighing a little at the warmth. He was actually beginning to think that Harper was right, Harper really was all right. 

When the Perseid had left Harper with an unwelcome and dangerous gift, Harper hadn’t been able to sleep. Still, he hadn’t wanted to take chances, thus his campaign to make certain that Harper was worn out enough to sleep. The day’s activities had worried him, but the evening’s were reassuring. He smiled in the dark, rubbed his chin on soft, unspiked hair; Harper had been almost endearingly childlike in his evident pleasure over the tub, and it reminded Dylan again of all the things he’d taken for granted all of his life.

When he’d been eleven, the worst worry he had was whether or not his mother would be back from her latest flight in time for his birthday. He could mourn for the child Harper had been and lose sight of the fact that Harper had survived and survived with astonishingly minor damage. He wasn’t blind, he knew that Harper was capable of almost feral viciousness. If he’d doubted it, Trance’s account of their encounter with Gerentex would have cleared the issue with remarkable speed. The fact remained that Harper was capable of love, of loyalty, of any number of attempts to do the right thing, and when it came down to it, that was indication enough to him of Harper’s character. He still hadn’t forgotten Harper’s confession to murder; just remembering Harper’s alleged motive was enough to make him grin even now. 

Harper mumbled something inaudible, sighed in his sleep and stretched against Dylan’s chest. He put his hand on Harper’s hip, just a casual caress, and closed his eyes. 

Jeger had been working for the entity. Which suggested that somehow, the entity had been aware that the Perseid had the data and had set Jeger to pursue and eliminate.

Jeger had failed. 

He couldn’t help but wonder how aware the entity was aware of the location of the data at any given time, whether or not the entity might guess or sense that it had been retrieved. And wasn’t that a lovely thought to follow him into sleep?

But there was no escaping it.

  


* * *

"Okay, so he’s all right, he’s sleeping and eating as normally as Harper ever does, he’s come up with some freaking _brilliant_ ideas that even Rommie loves." Beka leaned against the side of the pilot’s chair and cocked an eyebrow at Dylan. "So why aren’t you happier about it?"

Dylan sighed. For the last forty-eight hours, Harper had been doing exactly that, and he couldn’t stop worrying. "Perhaps I’ve become a pessimist."

"I think we were having this same conversation right before Rommie’s backup got activated. Now you’re making _me_ nervous." Beka’s tone wasn’t entirely light. 

He snorted and got out of his seat. "I’m making myself nervous, welcome to my world."

She was silent, frowning a little. "You think that thing might know we’re coming back?"

"Given the fairly safe assumption that it’s sentient, I think it probably at least suspects it." He moved to a console, studied readings that were perfectly normal, pressed a button and brought the machinery shops up on the viewscreen one by one until he found the one Harper was currently using. "Which suggests that we’re a target no matter where we are."

"Which means that your lone quest was probably doomed from the get-go." There wasn’t any enjoyment or righteousness in Beka’s tone.

It let him look at her and nod peacefully. "I suppose I really wasn’t in my right mind."

"Like _I_ was?" She managed a crooked smile. "We were all a little messed up, I guess."

He looked back at Harper, happily creating devices of destruction and defense with Tyr’s assistance. "I hate this." Softly.

"There’s no choice. I thought we agreed on that." But she wasn’t arguing with him; she was watching Harper and her expression was a little sad.

"I know. That doesn’t mean I don’t hate it." He sighed, rubbed his cheek. "Times like this, I do miss speaking to Rev Bem."

She put her hand on his arm, a brief, comforting touch. "Dylan, he may very well come out of it. And maybe, if we can win this one, he can see it as freeing his people."

"The ones we don’t destroy." Dryly. "There are still other breeding worlds in other quadrants."

"Maybe we won’t have to." But her tone was doubtful.

"We can always hope." He glanced at the chron. "I think it’s time to divert Harper. Has he eaten anything today?"

"I sent Trance down about six hours ago, she managed to get a sandwich into him." Beka rolled her eyes. "And, of course, a Sparky."

He couldn’t repress a grin. "Naturally."

"Caffeine and chaos," she said, resigned. 

He laughed. "Not as much chaos as it seems, I don’t think. I’ve come to realize that what looks like chaos to the rest of us is perfectly ordered according to some arcane design from inside that head."

"I suppose." She sounded surprised. "I hadn’t thought of it that way."

Dylan chuckled. "Are you kidding, it’s the only thing that’s kept me from throttling him a half-dozen times in the last year." 

Beka grinned. "Only a half-dozen? Dylan, you really _are_ an idealist, aren’t you."

"Very funny." He was laughing anyway. "All right, perhaps that’s an underestimation. Maybe half a hundred."

"At the _least_." Beka looked at Harper again, her expression fond. "But I’m glad neither of us have."

"Oh, yes." He allowed himself a rueful smile at her. 

Beka smiled back. "I’m glad I don’t have to kneecap you after all."

God. He kept his expression mild, but couldn’t control the flush that heated his skin. "Beka." Quellingly.

She shrugged, grinned. "Well, it’s true."

"Just for that, you can do double duty tonight, you’ve got the conn." He started toward the corridor, heard her snicker behind him and couldn’t help grinning, unseen.

Harper was sitting on the floor of the machine shop when Dylan arrived, and Tyr was gone. "I know, I know, my shift is over." Wan grin.

It set off alarms. He crouched beside Harper. "Headache?"

Harper rubbed his forehead. "A little." Reluctantly. "I was just thinking about Rev."

Ah. He’d wondered what Harper felt about that. "Yeah?"

Harper nodded, but said nothing more.

He put his hand on the back of Harper’s neck. "I know. I think about him, too." Cautiously.

"I know this sounds stupid, I couldn’t even look at him after...." Shaky intake of breath. "But I miss him."

"Me, too." There wasn’t much more he could say, at least nothing meaningful, and he refused to indulge in cheap platitudes. He rubbed Harper’s nape lightly. "Come on, let’s get out of here."

Harper leaned into his touch. Sighed. "Yeah, okay, I’m starving."

The hair at the base of Harper’s skull was feathery, soft, not spiked with gel. He ruffled it lightly and rose, offered Harper an unnecessary hand up. Brief flicker of a grin and Harper accepted it, popped up and gave him a long look. "You look tired."

"I’m just a little on edge," Dylan admitted.

Harper frowned. "How come? I thought you were done worrying about me."

"That’ll be the day." But he grinned. "I’m hungry, too. Come on, before I decide to throw you over my shoulder."

Harper blinked. "Hah, that would be beneath the captain’s dignity."

Dylan chuckled. "Don’t count on it. I’m behaving very uncharacteristically these days."

Delight flared briefly in Harper’s eyes, then died. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"It just is." Dylan arched an eyebrow. "But I’m enjoying it."

Harper nodded, his expression gone thoughtful. "Well, I got a lot done today," he said and led the way out of the machine shop.

Something had just happened, and Dylan wasn’t at all sure what. Wasn’t sure it felt right. But he followed Harper, listened to an account of the latest round of upgrades as if Harper and Rommie hadn’t kept him updated throughout the ship’s day. He was, however, unsettled enough to walk Harper to his quarters for a change of clothing and wait there, rather than simply waiting for Harper to arrive at his own.

Harper went quiet on him then, which was even more unsettling. 

He wasn’t quite sure what it was, wasn’t sure how to address, so he waited until they’d finished eating--for once, decorously at the table in his quarters--and when Harper got up to dispose of the dishes, he tugged Harper toward him. Removed a dish from Harper’s grasp and simply tugged Harper into his lap. 

Startled laughter, and Harper shifted to keep his balance, tried to get up. "What?"

He tugged again, let Harper settle astride his legs. "I’m not behaving uncharacteristically." 

Harper blinked. "What?"

"You’re repeating yourself." He waited for a moment, saw an odd shift in Harper’s expression. "The only uncharacteristic thing about this is that I’ve never gotten involved with a shipmate before. For the obvious reasons, which we’ve already discussed."

Harper didn’t quite meet his eyes, rolled his shoulders. "Yeah, okay." 

"What’s going on inside that head, Harper?" He asked it softly "Talk to me, will you?" A request, not an order.

Bright smile. "Nothing."

Well, he’d asked. He’d have to wait until Harper was ready to tell him. Leaning in, he kissed Harper gently, slowly, slid his hands up under Harper’s shirt and rubbed warm skin. Felt the irregularities of scars, the ridge of ribs and then vertebrae beneath skin and muscle. Harper’s mouth was frantic at first, but he kept rubbing Harper’s back, holding back just a little bit until Harper relaxed against him, arms around his neck. Something he had said, he thought distantly, and then stopped thinking, just tasted and felt and oh, yeah, that was good, something in Harper’s posture loosened, melted against him....

And then Harper pulled back, his expression confused. Blinked at him.

He hesitated, settled for pulling Harper just a little closer. "Thanks, I needed that."

Slow grin. "Yeah?"

Dylan nodded. "Yeah. Definitely." 

Harper leaned in again, which was good, better than good, but this time just to hug. "Glad to help."

Dylan closed his eyes, relieved. Rubbed his palms over Harper’s back again. "I was thinking a relaxing evening, a vid, you, me, whatever else sounds good."

Harper actually laid his head on Dylan’s shoulders. "Maybe a hot bath?"

Dylan grinned, unseen. Harper loved that damn tub. "I think that can be worked in."

"Sounds good to me." 

Tilting his head back a little, Dylan closed his eyes, concentrating on the feel of Harper’s skin, on the scent of Harper’s hair, on the weight and heft of Harper against him. What he was feeling ought to alarm him, given the differences between them. It didn’t. He was perfectly happy with that, however impractical it was. 

Harper sighed. "Bath first?" 

It actually sounded good. Really, really good. "Yeah." Except, of course, that he was reluctant to move. Harper solved that by getting up. 

Sighing, he caught Harper’s wrist, turned Harper’s hand palm up and kissed it before letting go.

That got him an indecipherable stare. A blink. And then a real smile, one that wasn’t falsely bright or guarded, one he hadn’t seen on Harper’s face before. Dear god, he was doomed; he found he was willing to do whatever it took to put that smile back on Harper’s face again.

Thank god, this time it was only a bath.

  


* * *

Lolling in hot water, Harper sighed, let his head fall back on Dylan’s shoulder. Wondered if it was wrong for him to envy Dylan the tub and if any of the other officer’s quarters had one. 

"You’re thinking too much," Dylan murmured and ran a surprisingly proprietary hand over Harper’s belly.

"I’m thinking about your tub," Harper murmured back and looked down to see where Dylan’s hand was headed. Damn, it stopped just short of what he’d hoped; he squirmed back against Dylan just to see what would happen. "I love the jets."

Dylan shifted, but didn’t let go of him. In fact, Dylan had seemed reluctant to let go of him at all since they’d hit Dylan’s quarters. Not that he was complaining. At all. He found it weirdly reassuring. Maybe he was just jumpy with all this stuff in his head, all the factors he was trying to consider in building potential defenses and weapons; Dylan’s comment about uncharacteristic behavior had... okay, it had panicked him a little. Not a lot, but a little. Okay, maybe a lot.

The weirdest thing of all was that Dylan had evidently picked up on it. Plain fact was, he’d rather cut his tongue out than actually _tell_ Dylan what was going on in his head, especially when he hadn’t completely figured it out. Nobody ever said Dylan made Captain’s rank on his looks, but the really great thing was that Dylan didn’t hound him, didn’t try and drag it out of him, didn’t do anything but kiss him breathless and rub his back. 

No, the weirdest thing of all was that it worked. He squirmed again, even though it wasn’t really possible to get any closer, and Dylan nuzzled the back of his neck. "Ready to get out?"

Decisions, decisions. If they got out, he could loll naked against Dylan in bed with his choice of vids. If they stayed in, he could loll naked against Dylan with hot water jets. "I can’t decide."

Dylan laughed softly, took hold of Harper’s wrist and turned his hand palm up. "You’re starting to shrivel, I think it’s time to get out."

"But it feels good."

"I’ll make sure you feel good." Softly.

Not even, like, deliberately erotic, and his cock twitched anyway. "How?"

"However you like." 

Okay, now his brain was melting and he was reasonably certain Dylan wasn’t just talking about sex. Dumb, dumb, dumb, he knew better than this, but Dylan had a way of just walking past his defenses, dammit, always had and he turned around, wrapped his arms around Dylan’s neck and put his face in Dylan’s neck, feeling shaky and too vulnerable and scared witless.

Dylan’s arms went around him, but Dylan didn’t say anything, Dylan just held on. It occurred to him that maybe Dylan felt the same way, which was a mind-boggler, but which also let him feel calmer and more together. "Okay, time to get out before we both melt and go down the drain with the water."

Dylan’s smile was weird, sweet and hot and amused all at the same time, and it made his stomach do a lazy roll, so he kissed it.

Got kissed back very thoroughly and then Dylan stood up, dripping water very decoratively, pulled him up out of the tub and then they were both laughing for no good reason at all.

Dylan flicked him with a towel, he flicked back and the towel fight persisted until they were both on the bed, still laughing like a couple of idiots. Dylan leaned in and he did and he got one of those kisses again, slow and sweet and his heart was thumping like mad; Dylan’s hand cupped the side of his head and Dylan just... drank him in.

He was half-turned on, half-terrified, and altogether confused, but Dylan finally just nipped his mouth, licked the tip of his nose and then leaned back, smiling a little. Ruffled his hair with the towel, gently this time. "Your hair is sticking up."

"My hair always sticks up." He wriggled meaningfully. "Like other parts of me."

Dylan looked down, smirked a little. "Not yet."

"Hey, half-way counts." He started to reach down to touch himself, but Dylan caught his wrist, nipped it. "Hey!"

"Mine." Dylan smoldered at him briefly, then grinned wickedly.

Oh, hell, he really was doomed, he hadn’t ever guessed that Dylan could _play_ , too. "That makes this mine, then, right?" He freed his wrist, reached down to palm Dylan, felt Dylan’s cock stir. 

Dylan’s gaze followed his movement, and the wicked grin got wickeder. "Yes, I suppose it does." 

His brain just sort of shut down for a minute at that thought. "Oh, good." 

Dylan laughed again, very softly, and reached down to return the favor. Nice, very nice, and Harper felt what blood still fed his brain go south and stay there until Dylan suddenly stopped and slid across the bed to the other side.

He blinked, scowled and lifted his head. "Hey!"

Dylan chuckled, shifted back against the headboard, patted his legs. "C’mere."

Oh, god, yes, playful Dylan was going to kill him for real. He scrambled into Dylan’s lap and Dylan had the lube and squeezed some into his palm. "Oh, good," he said, "I’m gonna get mine, right?"

"Oh ye of little imagination." Dylan grinned at him, wrapped that hand around Harper’s cock _and_ his own, and that was pretty amazing, slick and hot, and Dylan leaned in to get a kiss, so he gave it. 

He had no fucking clue what Dylan had in mind, but it felt great, and what the hell, even if he’d had a different goal in mind, this was good, better than good.

Drawing back, Dylan gave him that smile again, the one he didn’t quite know how to interpret, hot and smoldering and affectionate all at once. "You feel too damn good."

He almost whimpered. "You do."

Dylan kissed him again, and who the hell knew how Dylan had gotten lube on his other hand, but a slippery finger was suddenly stroking into him. Slow and careful, no surprises, and he pushed down against it--long fingers, god, yes, and Dylan knew what he was doing all right, even if he was just teasing Harper at the moment. He licked his way into Dylan’s mouth and ran his own hands over Dylan’s chest, teasing Dylan’s nipples and oh, oh, Dylan picked that moment to get more serious, he started to doubt his own ability to last for very long and Dylan’s hand moved a little more roughly. Not too roughly, just right, especially with the lube, and he pushed his cock against Dylan’s, put one hand over Dylan’s to urge Dylan on.

Crazy, crazy, this whole thing, but if Dylan had no regrets, he sure as hell was going to do his best not to have any either; a second finger pushed him that much closer to the edge and he felt a little frantic, wanted Dylan to come with him, and from the way Dylan was sucking his tongue, that might happen just the way he wanted. The world narrowed down to the places Dylan touched him, the places he touched Dylan, lips and tongue and fingers and cocks and his toes fucking curled as it began and he wrapped an arm around Dylan’s neck, holding on. 

He moaned into Dylan’s mouth and Dylan’s stroke was rougher, faster, and he tightened his fingers over Dylan’s, felt the fingers inside him press firmly and that was it, he came and came and came, panting and making ridiculous wordless sounds because he couldn’t remember how the fuck to say Dylan’s name. Dylan bucked up under him, gripped him tight and then Dylan’s head fell back, Dylan obviously didn’t have the nonverbal problem. "God, Harper!"

He was still panting, watching Dylan shoot, and god, if that didn’t make him quiver all over again. He nipped Dylan’s throat, sucked at the hollow, and Dylan groaned happily. "Harper." 

He was too busy gnawing on Dylan to answer. Dylan’s fingers pulled out and one of their towels miraculously appeared between them. He wasn’t entirely sure he approved of that. Hell, he’d lick Dylan clean any day and slid down to prove it, but Dylan rolled him over and dove in, kissing him hard enough to leave him short of breath. 

"Your mouth," Dylan growled and kissed it again. "God, Harper."

He blinked, confused. "What?"

"It needs to be classified as a controlled substance." Another kiss.

Okay, his toes curled again. He was gone, totally gone. So long sanity, so long self-preservation, hello Dylan’s mouth.

What the hell. 

They spent the rest of the evening watching a vid, something old, something about hackers with neural jacks, very fake and silly and a lot of fun in spite of that. 

"I only _wish_ it had been that easy to get that port in," he told Dylan later, comfortably spooned inside the stretch of Dylan’s longer body. 

Dylan’s fingertips touched the skin around Harper’s port delicately. "What made you get it?"

He snorted, turned his head into that touch. "Didn’t have a choice, exactly." 

Dylan’s fingers stilled briefly, and then abandoned him, only to return when Dylan’s arm went over him, this time on his belly. Okay, given, he was a sucker for a friendly belly rub, but Dylan knew just how to do it without tickling. He squirmed happily, felt Dylan’s mouth brush the back of his neck. "What happened?"

He opened his mouth, closed it again. "If I tell you, it’s only gonna depress you," he finally said firmly. "And I feel too good to depress you."

Dylan laughed against his skin. "Okay. Fair enough, I guess. Tell me sometime?"

"Sure." He was feeling generous. Goofily generous. Mostly because Dylan didn’t push, didn’t press, didn’t pry. "Sometime when I’ve got the energy to remind you that it’s okay after all, I’m here, I like it, it’s useful and can be fun."

"I don’t think I want to know how it can be fun."

"Oh, that’s easy. It’s like--it’s like those dreams where you can fly. I know, it’s not my body, just my mind, but it’s like flying." He yawned suddenly, surprising himself. "It’s like surfing, in a way."

"Surfing." Dylan’s tone was a little confused.

"Flying, I mean. That’s why I love surfing. It feels like flying." He closed his eyes, squirmed again, just for the sheer pleasure of it. "You’re spoilin’ me."

Soft chuff of laughter. "Pot, meet kettle."

"I never did get that saying."

"I’ll explain it later." Another nuzzle, this one on his shoulder. "Go to sleep."

Harper sighed happily, put his hand over Dylan’s and for once, followed orders without question or protest.

  


* * *

"Do you know how he got that port?" Dylan looked over the rim of his coffee cup at Beka, presently sitting across from him in the officers’ mess. "He didn’t want to tell me, he said it would depress me."

"It will." Beka took a sip of her own. "But I’ll tell you what little I know. He was a Nietzschean lab rat."

Dylan’s stomach knotted up hard. He carefully set his mug down. "What?"

"On Earth," she said helpfully. "I guess somebody got hold of some old tech, wanted to use it. There was some kind of a campaign to clear out the street kids in the refugee centers, and he got caught in it. That’s about all I know, though."

A vivid imagination could be a curse, Dylan decided. "I thought maybe he’d gotten it once he got off planet."

"Nope. But you know Harper, he’s resourceful, I guess he used it to _get_ off planet." Brief grin. "He more or less did the stowaway gig on a Perseid freighter, and by the time the Perseid crew figured out he was there, he’d already tapped into their database and learned enough to be useful. So they made him work off his rations, and there he was, off Earth and into space."

Faintly queasy, Dylan considered that. "Ah."

"Besides, by that time, he’d gotten the command codes out of the computer." Fond expression and distant gaze. "He was a dangerous little git, and he was only twenty."

Dylan nodded, picked up his coffee again, more for something to do with his hands than any desire to drink it. "A lab rat."

"Yeah." She eyed him. "You okay?"

"I’m depressed." But he smiled faintly, genuinely. "Thanks for telling me."

She shrugged, flushed a little. "Well, he’s not one for talking about the past. And if you ask him, he’ll evade. It just pops out sometimes, and I pieced it together little by little."

He nodded again, got up. "Briefing in an hour. I want us to cover as many strategic options as we can."

"Good plan." Beka eyed him, but stayed in her seat, her feet propped on another chair.

He smiled at that, went out into the corridor and headed toward command. On the way, he encountered Tyr and Harper--or rather, walked past a cabin with an open door and saw them. "Gentlemen," he said, leaning on the doorframe.

"More terminals," Harper said happily. "See? We’ve got it down to an art now." He pointed.

Harper had done some miniaturization on the terminals, it seemed; they were scarcely noticeable, no more than bolts in the floor to the uneducated. Or unwary. He hoped. 

"How many of those have the two of you installed?"

Tyr’s mouth twitched. "At least two sets on each level of the ship."

"Theoretically, it shouldn’t be necessary." Harper’s gaze was briefly troubled. "But I just keep seeing it as a kind of web in my mind, so I wanted to place them geometrically."

Dylan hunkered down beside Tyr. "You’re doing it all by hand?"

"The drones are doing the work. I just like to check them." Harper flushed a little, rolled his shoulders. 

"Good idea." He nodded his approval. "Briefing in an hour. Don’t lose track of time." He softened it with a grin.

"You got it, boss." Harper grinned briefly back, went back to checking his terminals. "These look good, Tyr. I’m going to head up to the next level, check on those."

"I’ll be there in a moment." Tyr gave Dylan a long look.

Harper nodded absently, got to his feet and headed out.

Dylan waited. 

Tyr rubbed his chin. "How are your dreams lately?"

"About what you’d expected. But at least the worst ones have stopped."

Tyr rose, folded his arms. "Prescience is considered a survival trait."

Dylan blinked, rose as well. "And?"

"And while I’m not one to trust in dreams, mine have grown more troubling." Tyr looked directly at him. "I cannot shake the certainty that something is coming for us."

It matched his own dread neatly. "I think you’re right. I don’t know what Harper’s dreaming, aside from circuits and terminals, but I think that’s driving him."

Tyr frowned. "You think we’re all perceiving it?"

"I think it’s possible that’s a part of what drove Rev into his own mind. I’m not sure--" He sighed, swallowed the last of his cooling coffee. "Is it prescience or was there something we perceived that we can’t remember."

"Surely one of us would remember." Tyr made an annoyed growl in his throat. 

He smiled grimly. "Beka’s not dreaming. And whatever Trance dreams, if she dreams, she doesn’t share. You and Harper and Rev were inside that maze. I wasn’t--but I was unconscious beside Harper while he was raving. Maybe it’s not prescience, Tyr."

Tyr’s frown deepened. "I like that even less."

"Something the three of you heard or saw. Mind you, this is a lately developed theory, I seem to have disproved all my others." Dryly.

"Not necessarily all of them." But Tyr was subdued. "An hour."

"An hour," Dylan agreed and watched him walk out. Chilled suddenly, he crouched again, touched the small, innocuous terminals. It seemed a frail defense, but he knew Harper’s abilities, knew them and trusted them.

Something _was_ coming. He hoped to god they were ready for it. 

  


* * *

Harper actually paid attention to the chron, for once, and showed up at Dylan’s quarters before Dylan came looking for him.

Dylan was sitting at the table where the multi-level Go board still rested, a drink in his hand. Not a good sign, Harper didn’t think, but Dylan turned to see him and the darkness lifted, Dylan smiled and set the drink aside. "Ah, you’re a pleasant surprise. I was afraid I was going to have to cheat and ask Rommie where you were this time."

"Hey, I learn new things all the time." He put his things down, walked over to stand behind Dylan, put his hands on shoulders that felt stiff and knotted. "You’re depressed already? And I just got here."

Dylan snorted. "I’m not now. You’re a good influence." He let his head fall back against Harper. "Mmmm, that feels good."

Harper rubbed his cheek against Dylan’s hair, keeping his hands busy on Dylan’s shoulder. "Might help if you took off the jacket."

"Mmmm. Good point." Dylan sat up straight, undid the buckles and shed the jacket. 

"Shirt, too. In fact, why don’t you lie down, let me get that oil or whatever it is, do this right." His heart was thumping hard again, and he wasn’t entirely sure why.

Dylan turned in the chair, smiled. "I’d sell my soul for that."

Oh, boy. His stomach felt like he was on an amusement park ride. "Oh, hell, I’m cheaper than that. Buy me dinner and let me soak in that tub." 

"Done." Dylan got up and walked toward the bed, pulling his shirt off as he did. "Rommie, dinner to my quarters as per my earlier request, and privacy mode, please."

"Understood."

Harper followed; Dylan tossed the shirt, heedless of his usual neatness, and sat down on the edge of the bed to take off his boots.

"Oil?" Harper asked, arching an eyebrow.

Dylan paused, frowned. "Damn, I forgot to get any more out of ship’s stores. There’s some lotion in the bathroom cabinet." Hopeful look. "That okay?"

Oh, boy. His heart thudded again. "Sure." He moved toward Dylan, found himself captured and held and Dylan’s hair was silky on his fingers. "You okay?"

"I am now." Muffled voice. "Too much brooding, or so Beka tells me."

He smiled a little. "Hey, I agree." Carded his fingers through Dylan’s hair. "You gotta stop this. We’re doing everything we can, briefing was good, we’ve got everything covered that we know, and we’re working on what we don’t know."

Dylan nodded against him, fumbled his shirt up and put his face against Harper’s skin. "Why don’t you just lie down with me?"

"Your shoulders feel terrible. I’m going to get the lotion and be right back." Feeling vaguely embarrassed, he kissed the top of Dylan’s head, unable not to. Squeezed back and then stepped away when Dylan released him. Found the lotion quickly and came back to find Dylan sprawled backward on the bed, his arm over his eyes. He chivvied gently and rolled Dylan over, straddled him. "Terrible," he repeated and warmed the lotion in his hands. He was starting to understand Dylan’s fascination with "mapping"; working his hands over Dylan’s skin was almost dreamily hypnotic, the more so as Dylan actually began to relax.

Rommie sent the drone with dinner, and that was good; by that time, Dylan was relaxed and maybe just a little tipsy. He wondered how many drinks Dylan had indulged in before he’d gotten there. Eating seemed to settle that down, and Dylan was just drowsy, affectionate, ready to get into bed.

"I did something," Dylan said abruptly. "I asked Beka about your port."

Jarred, Harper looked up from taking off his own boots. "You did?" 

Dylan’s expression was unhappy. "Yeah, I did. I’m sorry. It just stuck in my mind, I asked her if she knew."

He considered that. Sighed and took his other boot off. "S’okay. No wonder you’re down." 

Dylan grimaced. "Well, that could be part of it, I guess. Mostly, I’m just...." Another grimace. "Worried. Maybe a little drunk."

Harper stood up, shed his pants and pulled his shirt over his head. "Move over."

Dylan smiled faintly, shifted under the bedclothes and lifted them. Harper climbed in, wrapped himself around Dylan for a change. "Just remember, I have an upload and a port, and I’m not afraid to use ‘em to get your command codes."

Dylan laughed, startled. "You wouldn’t. What am I saying, you practically fractured your skull on that commboard."

"Not even close." Maybe it wasn’t hot sex, but it was nice. "We’re doing everything we can, and believe me, even if you take a nose dive, the rest of us are survival oriented, and hell, Tyr’ll probably take over the ship."

"Oh, that’s comforting." Dryly.

He grinned, kissed Dylan’s shoulder. "Okay, my bedside manner’s a little rusty."

"The hell," Dylan told him softly and turned around.

Heh. Maybe his bedside manner was just right after all....

  


* * *

Dylan woke up suddenly when Harper got out of bed. "Hey?" Blearily.

Harper didn’t answer, only sat down on the floor with his stylus and comp-pad. In the dark. Reaching, Dylan adjusted the lights up to dim, frowned. 

Harper’s gaze was blank, his expression impassive. 

"Harper?" Softly.

No answer, but the damn stylus was flying.

He blinked, rolled over to peer more closely at Harper. God save them, Harper was drawing schematics in his sleep. Rocked, he stared, tried to remember what little he knew about sleep disorders of this kind. Dimly, he thought he remembered hearing that the sleeper shouldn’t be awakened. And there was that damned data upload to consider; if that was driving Harper, there was no knowing what would waking him might trigger. 

Fascinated in spite of his worry, he watched, saw something weird taking shape on the screen as Harper sketched. What in the hell--he couldn’t read Harper’s scattered notes from this angle, but he recognized some of the components. At least in the theoretical sense. Strictly theoretical, and he couldn’t tell what the total design was, even though he seldom had difficulty reading Harper’s schematics. Damn and damn, and should he or shouldn’t he wake Harper, and was this good or bad, and more importantly, was it good or bad for Harper, and just as he braced himself to take the risk, Harper put the stylus and comp-pad back down. He shifted out of the way and Harper got back in bed, snuggled back into his pillow and went utterly limp again.

The hair on the back of Dylan’s neck was making a serious attempt to stand up. He reached out, put his hand gently on Harper’s hip and Harper stirred, made a sleepy sound that was profoundly reassuring. He slid close, put his arm around Harper’s waist and Harper shifted back against him with a muzzy interrogative sound. He wanted to wake Harper and make sure Harper was in his right mind, but he knew that was more irrationality talking. It didn’t prevent him from rubbing Harper’s stomach and nuzzling the back of Harper’s neck.

Harper’s fingers linked with his. "Whassimit?" 

He felt vaguely guilty. "Shhhh." 

"Mmmmmmm." A comfortable sigh.

He felt guiltier, contented himself with tightening the arm around Harper and tried to put worry out of his mind. It followed him into his dreams anyway, but at this point, he expected it.

  


* * *

The smell of coffee accompanied Harper’s gradual return to consciousness. He finally opened an eye and saw Dylan sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a cup enticingly close. He whimpered. "‘S not fair."

"This is yours." One corner of Dylan’s mouth curved upward.

In that case. He sat up, accepted the mug and sipped. Oh, man, just the way he liked it, loaded with sugar and cream, even if Dylan, the purist, looked down his nose at it. It slowly penetrated his sleep-dazed mind that Dylan had, despite that purist stance, fixed it just the way he liked it. He felt oddly shy about that, offered Dylan a diffident smile. "Thanks, this is great."

"My pleasure." Dylan smiled at him for real, leaned in to steal a kiss. "You sleep okay?"

He blinked. "Yeah, I think so. Why?"

Dylan handed him his pad. He blinked at it. "What the--"

"You did that. Evidently in your sleep." Despite the lightness of his tone, Dylan’s face was shadowed by worry. 

"Wow." It was unsettling, at least until he studied the drawing and realized what it was. "Oh, hey, I bet I know why, I was thinking about this just before I dozed off."

Abruptly, Dylan’s expression went comical. "I’m flattered."

Oh, shit, maybe that wasn’t exactly... he flushed, suddenly mortified, but Dylan only laughed, leaned in to kiss him again. That helped. A lot. Dylan wasn’t pissed, he was just being funny, and, boy, that was danger, danger, how much harder could he fall, anyway? Dylan rescued the coffee before he spilled it, settled back into bed with him and started doing some very unmilitary things to him. Not that he was complaining. Nope, nope, he was definitely not complaining, and Dylan worked his way down and then he was past even _thinking_ beyond the sensation of Dylan’s mouth on him, and, god, god, it beat breakfast all to hell as a way to start the morning, it even beat coffee....

And that was the last coherent thought he had for a while, pure monkey brain and he was clutching at the sheets and saying things he was sure would embarrass him later if he remembered them, so he didn’t listen, only felt and then came with a strangled sort of cry. Shuddered as Dylan gentled down, taking every damn drop, and god, god. "You," he said weakly and blinked at the ceiling. "Oh."

Dylan nuzzled his way back up. "Don’t tell me I’ve reduced you to speechlessness." 

"Fuck me," he said huskily. "Right now. Don’t stop to think about it, goddammit, just do it."

For a minute, he thought it might not go the way he wanted it, but then Dylan’s pupils dilated and, oh, yeah, he was going to get it _just_ the way he wanted it. Hot and thick, and even if he’d just come, god, it felt good, Dylan definitely knew what he was doing, and Dylan’s fingers were slick in him and on him and he was about half-hard by the time Dylan rolled him on his side and pressed into him from behind. Lazy way, he liked it, there was something weird about having been together enough that lazy was this good, and he pushed back into Dylan, welcoming the burn.

"Harper." Tight, controlled voice and that was good too. "God, Harper, that’s--fucking incredible."

He shivered, hearing the need, hearing the hunger. So fucking incredible, he agreed silently and his cock thickened in Dylan’s grasp. Dylan bit his shoulder lightly, began to move, slow slide out and then in again and he pushed back, made a sound in his throat that was embarrassingly close to a whine. Oh, yeah, this was better than incredible, whatever that would be, and even though he loved physics, he wished it could last forfuckingever, which showed just how shorted out his brain was by good sex and Dylan, and he pushed back, whining again, and incredibly, he was getting hard again, really hard, not just "oh, nice to see Dylan’s fingers" hard, and those fingers said a nice hello to his balls on every other thrust inward. The feeling of being opened and filled and connected and, god, claimed, was finally enough to make him demanding and he slid his arm under Dylan’s, grabbed Dylan’s hip hard, urging him on wordlessly. Dylan obliged, stroking his cock ruthlessly while he hammered himself into Harper and that was it, that was all she wrote, and he came again, feeling like it started somewhere behind his eyes and at the base of his spine, came and actually screamed at the intensity, saw colors behind his eyelids, saw fucking _stars_....

He came hard enough that all he could do was helplessly shudder even though he could _swear_ he felt Dylan’s cock thicken more before Dylan came and Dylan’s mouth pressed against the side of his throat and hell if he wasn’t going to have one spectacular hickey there for Beka to ogle when he finally managed to get to work. Hell if he cared. Dylan was panting and licking him, and he was a mess, hell, the bed was a mess, and all he could do was catch his breath and lace his fingers together with Dylan’s. It wasn’t entirely sentiment, he was so sensitized at this point that even the most gentle touch would probably make him scream, only not quite in pleasure, and Dylan was a guy, he knew these things, he just curled their fingers, raised them and licked Harper’s palm.

He whimpered again, and Dylan pressed his lips there instead.

"You," he said and took in a deep breath. "You can’t seriously expect me to get any work done today." Plaintively.

Dylan bit his fingertips, not gently. "If I have to, you have to."

He sighed. "Damn." Then, inspired. "But hey, you made me come twice, don’t I even get to sleep in?"

"Your coffee’s getting cold," Dylan told him heartlessly and then kissed Harper’s temple. "Besides, you’d end up staying up all night." Shift of Dylan’s hips, and he felt Dylan pull carefully out of him. "Besides, we both need a shower."

"Good point." But he said it sadly.

Instead of getting up, Dylan leaned over him, tugged the blankets over them both. "Fortunately, it’s still early." Smugly.

Harper frowned, lifted his head to squint at Dylan’s chron. "Argh. You got me up two hours early?" 

Dylan settled behind him again, wrapped an arm around him. "Yup. Couldn’t sleep." 

Was he going to complain? Maybe not. Not this time. But he elbowed Dylan anyway. "Do it again and I’ll hurt you. A lot."

"Sure you will." Still complacent. "Especially if I offer you coffee and sex."

He elbowed Dylan again before squirming back against him. It wouldn’t do to let Dylan get too smug. Yet.

Besides, he didn’t have to get up for two hours. At least. And neither, if he had his way, would Dylan.

  


* * *

Beka greeted Dylan with a gleam in her eye and a message. "The Than have volunteered their fleet to help us."

His knees felt rubbery suddenly. "They have?" He blinked at her. "They have."

"Yup." She gleamed brighter. "Are we going to share any of these new and nifty weapons Harper’s developed?"

"I think we should, yes." But he was gleaming a little himself. "Perhaps we could use them to tighten up the treaty."

Her eyes widened. "Oh, now you’re talking."

"Don’t get carried away." His knees really _were_ wobbly; he managed to walk to the pilot’s seat without betraying himself. "You haven’t explained to me how you’ve managed it." Dryly.

Beka grinned. "Me? What makes you think I had anything to do with it?"

He arched an eyebrow.

Beka shook her head, mock-regretful. "My, my, my, aren’t you getting cynical in your old age, Captain. I may have mentioned certain benefits to Commonwealth members who followed the treaty as it’s currently laid out instead of weaseling away to hide behind disbelief."

Oh, god. "Ah." Well, he’d said he was a soldier, not a diplomat, and there was no gainsaying that Beka had done very well with the Perseids. "Good work."

Her mouth twitched. "Job well done?"

"Very well done." He propped his chin on his hand, gazed at her. "Since you’re doing such a successful job, why don’t you go talk to Harper about what he sees as the most crucial items for this invasion and then transmit the blueprints to the appropriate parties."

She grinned again. "I’m on it." She cocked her finger at him like a gun and left him to have his private breakdown alone.

Not that it was really a breakdown. It was more like the shock of icy water, and it was several minutes before he felt confident enough of his legs to get out of the seat and walk to the console. God, he’d spent the last several days in a haze of dread and--he flushed a little, just thinking about it--sex. Not that he really regretted the latter, but his head hadn’t been clear... and maybe hadn’t been clear since he’d regained consciousness in Harper’s quarters on the Maru with Trance tending him.

__

_Did_ he regret what had happened with Harper, what was happening with Harper? 

He examined that question from all angles. If he’d still been commanding a High Guard ship, he would. This crew--all the dynamics were different, his responsibilities, the same in many ways, were nonetheless different in ways that mattered. And Seamus Harper was... Harper. Under his skin in so many ways he couldn’t define them all, but not all of them were merely carnal. His mouth curved slightly, thinking about the smile he’d gotten as reward for the coffee. He hadn’t been involved with a shipmate since his days as a Lancer. It had taken balance then, and would take balance now, but if he’d managed it in his reckless twenties, he rather thought forty would make it easier. Not to mention the extra three hundred odd years.

The Than. Funny how the shock of that news had cleared the haze. He’d been drowning in what he could seize from the day, terrified they were going to fail, guilt-ridden because he was afraid he should have gone alone, because he’d let himself be convinced out of weakness. It didn’t feel that way now, it felt like wisdom; the odds in their favor had just increased immeasurably.

He smiled again, but didn’t wobble. Better odds, good strategy; he believed they would win, not just hoped for it. It would take all the skill they had, but they were going to win.

For the first time since the Magog had ravaged his ship, he looked toward the future without lingering dread.

  


* * *

"So?" Harper scowled at Beka. "Big deal. You know how many Magog there are."

"Yes, I know that." Patient tone. "That’s why I need you to send the schematics. It’s all arranged, Harper. It’s part of the treaty."

He hesitated, not sure why he felt so damn reluctant. "Okay, okay. I’ll upload them for you, you can ship ‘em out."

Beka folded her arms. "What _is_ the matter with you?"

Plain fact, he didn’t know. Scowled harder. "Nothing’s the matter with me. Go on, let me get this uploaded and you can send it off."

Long look, and she narrowed her eyes at him. "Something’s the matter."

He rolled his shoulders, sighed. "I was, um, working in my sleep last night." When she arched an eyebrow, he scowled at her. "Very funny. No, I drew this." He picked up the pad and handed it to her. "Asleep. At least Dylan swears I did, and I don’t think he’d bullshit me. He was worried."

She stared at the pad. "What _is_ this, Harper?"

"A POS cannon, so far as I can tell." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Pretty scary shit, I’m trying to decide if I even want to build it."

Beka handed the pad back to him. "Have you talked to Dylan about it?"

"Oh, right. Like he’s going to go for it. He’s already freaked out because I drew it in my sleep." He put the pad down on his worktable. "I have to think about it. Don’t say anything to him."

Her expression wasn’t promising. "Harper, I can’t--"

Oh, shit. Panic time. "Just for a little while, let me figure it out." Pleading, almost. "Come on, Beka."

"Harper, we could use it for defense as well as attack." She wasn’t going to let it go easily.

"Beka, please!" Okay, he was begging now. "Let me think first!"

She put a hand on his shoulder. "Harper, listen to me. Even with the Than, it’s going to be one helluva fight. Every advantage we have--"

He shrugged her hand off, suddenly furious, tied up in knots and scared witless. "Fine, fuck it, do what you have to do." He turned and headed for the door. "I’ve got work to do."

"Harper!" 

He ignored her. Ducked into the first access hatch and closed it before she discovered him.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

There was only one thing to do; he had to set up failsafes. Triggers. Virtual hidey-holes. If he gave Dylan this fucking cannon, Dylan might well decide to go off alone after all.

After all, he’d outgun the damn red-eyed monster. 

That, he could not allow.

  


* * *

Dylan found Harper precisely where Rommie had said he would be found; deep inside the network of access tubes, plugged into Rommie’s neural net.

Eyes closed, head back and clearly very, very focused. 

Damn. He could be here for a while. But Harper jerked his head up and opened his eyes abruptly. Frowned at him. "Yeah?"

Well, Beka had been right, obviously, Harper was upset. "Beka talked to me." Mildly.

Sullen look. "I figured."

He waited, but when there was no further comment, he leaned forward, touched Harper’s shoulder. "Talk to me."

Harper looked away. "I’m just nervous, that’s all."

Dylan considered that. "There’s plenty to be nervous about."

Harper reached up, pulled the lead out of his port, then out of the board. "Yeah." 

He waited again. "Harper--"

"I know. We need it. I’ll build it." But a muscle twitched in Harper’s jaw.

It worried him. "Hey," he said softly, "Talk to me. This isn’t your captain speaking, this is me."

Brief flick of a grin. "You mean the guy I woke up with this morning?"

That relieved him. A little. "Right."

"I just... I’m just freaked out. I mean, this thing is more powerful than the thing that hit us, the PPS. It’s a little scary." Harper still wouldn’t quite look at him.

Dylan nodded. "It is. It’s worse than nova bombs, and I used to think those were the scariest weapon I knew. But that didn’t stop me from stockpiling a few from that station."

Startled look. "On board?"

"Yes. Contained." He moved closer, reached out again, cupped the back of Harper’s neck. "Are you afraid of what I’ll do with it?"

Harper glanced at him, shivered. "Yes. No. I don’t know." Abruptly, he knuckled his eyes like a child. "I just worry."

"I thought that was my job." He smiled, inviting Harper to share the joke.

"It’s your job to accept responsibility for every thing that happens." A little snappish. "It’s my job to worry about how to make it happen."

"Ah, I see." 

Harper sighed. "My shift’s not over." Daring him.

Dylan chuckled. "I know. Neither is mine. Meet me later? Same place?" He winked when Harper looked back at him, got a half a grin at least.

"Sure." And then, as mercurial as usual, Harper leaned it, put one arm around his neck and kissed him. "I’ll see ya then."

"You know what will happen if you don’t." Lightly, but he wanted Harper to know that... that what? That he was serious, sex-haze or not. That Harper was wanted there. 

"You’ll come looking for me?"

"I just have to ask Rommie. And then there are the battle drones." 

Harper laughed outright, shadows temporarily gone. "Threats will get you everywhere."

"Or you." He rubbed his thumb over Harper’s jaw. "Count on it."

Harper studied him, and there was something worrying there for a moment. "Okay." Quietly.

Very worrying. "Harper?"

Quick headshake and Harper grinned. "Just trying to imagine myself being hauled away by two drones."

"Good. Let it be a deterrent." He grinned back and then made his way back out of the tube. 

  


* * *

Harper was late. Given that they weren’t in port, and taking their time to the rendezvous, there was no reason to find that troubling, so despite his innate inclination, Dylan didn’t. He had something to eat, put on casual pants and shirt, stretched out on his bed and went through the usual calculations required of any commander, but doubly required when the government that had paid the bill no longer existed. It was true that the members of his fledgling Commonwealth were budgeting funds for Andromeda’s use, but aside from their own private business ventures, no one on board was getting paid.

It was, he reflected ruefully, a damn good thing they were all good at salvage. 

Of course, the raw materials for the upgrades to both ships had eaten into their funds, despite Beka’s insistence on throwing some of the possibly ill-gotten gains into the pot.

He was going to have to find a way to chivvy more out of his Commonwealth; if this mission succeeded, it was entirely possible that it would give him greater leverage. And he hated that; politics was _not_ his favorite pastime and Beka was undeniably better at playing the game.

He was brooding over that--and the stark figures on the screen of his linkpad--when the door opened and Harper more or less slouched in, looking exhausted and carrying an untidy stack of clothing.

"Hey." He arched an eyebrow. "Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like hell."

Brief grin. "Yeah. Bad news. I didn’t iron out all the kinks in my sleep. Little problem with the design of the supercannon."

Dylan studied him. "What kind of problem?" Mildly.

Harper set his stack down and came to sit on the edge of the bed, rubbed the back of his neck wearily. "Fucking shielding. Look at it this way, quantum weapons are tricky, the last thing you want is to warp your environment. Unless you want to be stuck for another three hundred years." He leaned down over his knees, rested his arms on them, frowning. "I think I need to do another upload."

Oh, no, the hell with that. "I have objections to that on so many levels I can’t sort out which are personal and which are professional." Dryly. 

Startled look. "I _have_ to."

Hell, hell, hell. "Let it rest, Harper. I’ll consider it, discuss it with Rommie." 

Harper scowled. "Is that on the personal level or the professional level?"

"Both."

The scowl deepened. And then, when he was bracing himself for a fight, Harper surrendered. "Okay. But I can be careful, I know what to do now."

"I’ll bear that in mind." He set the pad aside. "On both levels."

This time, he got a brief grin. "Split personality?"

"Something like that." He grinned in return. "Did you get something to eat?"

Harper nodded. "Grabbed something while I was finishing up." 

Dylan patted the bed. "Then why don’t you relax a little?"

Harper nodded, sighed. "Got anything for a headache?"

A headache? That cranked his worry up another notch. "Not here. Med-deck--"

"Nope, not even." Harper scowled again. "It’s just a headache, Dylan."

"Then come here." He set the pad aside. "We’ll try the old-fashioned method."

Harper snorted. "Hey, I said I have a headache."

"Get up here." Dylan growled.

Snickering a little, Harper obeyed, sat between Dylan’s legs and sighed when Dylan slid both hands into his hair and started to massage his scalp. "Oh, _that_ old-fashioned method."

"Smart-ass." Dylan growled. Funny, it was so easy to forget touch: what it felt like to be touched, what it felt like to touch. He wouldn’t have crossed that line, but he was immeasurably glad that Harper had. Harper was nearly purring, making little sounds of contentment that would, ordinarily, be mildly arousing. He rather hoped Harper would continue, even though Harper’s mood wasn’t particularly promising.

When he shifted his hands to Harper’s neck and shoulders, Harper let his head fall forward. "That feels so good." Very faintly.

Abruptly, Dylan recalled Harper’s reaction to the last massage. "Good. Is it helping?"

"Yeah." A note of surprise. "Nobody ever did this for me."

"Maybe you didn’t sit still long enough." Lightly. 

Harper snickered again. "It’s so much work to stay still."

That he believed. And marveled again that Harper trusted him enough to do it anyway. The tension under his fingers loosened gradually and he tugged Harper back against him. Even with the haze cleared, it felt damned good, felt comfortable. It was going to take a balancing act, but hell, it wasn’t just him balancing. Harper had his own share to do, and was managing it pretty damned well. He let his hands slide up and down Harper’s upper arms, used his thumbs to stroke each side of Harper’s neck, circling the port carefully. "You up to a vid?"

Harper let his head loll back on Dylan’s shoulder. "Sure. Something old."

"Ah, you’re going to leave the choice to me?" He grinned, rubbed his jaw on Harper’s hair.

Harper considered it. "Nope. Where’s the remote."

He laughed, reached and retrieved it. "Here. Knock yourself out. Not literally."

"You really take that worrying thing seriously, don’t you?" Harper thumbed the remote, settled more comfortably against Dylan.

"Well, someone has to. Beka only eggs you on."

Harper laughed, scrolled through the list of titles and selected one.

As the screen flared to life, Dylan groaned. "Oh, god, you’re kidding."

Harper all but giggling. "Hey, everybody needs a little whimsy in their lives."

"I’m going to have to visit med-deck for my stomach."

That got him a half-hearted jab with an elbow. "Hey, I love the flying monkeys."

"You’re a deeply disturbed individual." Dylan snaked an arm around Harper’s chest anyway. "And if I watch this, I’m going to end up deeply disturbed, too."

"Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain," Harper said and _giggled_ again.

"I’m afraid." He wasn’t, he was comfortable.

That comfort lasted even when Harper shifted to take off his boots and socks and stretched out with his head at the foot of the bed again. For one thing, it gave him the opportunity to finish his calculations, and for another, there was something absurdly endearing about Harper’s intent focus and stifled laughter.

They’d sidestepped an argument, Harper had cheered visibly, so what the hell. He was content until the credits began to roll and he looked up to see Harper’s head resting on his arms.

That wouldn’t do, he decided and reached out to encircle Harper’s ankle with his fingers. "Hey, you."

Harper’s leg jerked and Harper twitched. "What?" Drowsily.

Dylan smiled. "Sleep." He tugged on the captive ankle, paused to study the sole of Harper’s foot. Thin scars, crosswise, concentrated in the arch. It made his gut roll unpleasantly. God. Things kept leaping up out of nowhere to punch him in the gut.

Harper squirmed free, blinked at him. "What’s the matter?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

Harper frowned. "You look like your best friend just died." 

He shook his head again. Sighed. "How did you get those scars?"

Harper blinked, clearly confused, and then frowned again. "Oh, those. Nietzscheans." A shrug. "You know."

He didn’t. He’d been frozen in time when Harper had suffered... whatever Harper had suffered. It didn’t stop him from feeling the dull of ache of pointless anger. "I guessed that. It bothers me, you know that."

Harper studied him. "You couldn’t do anything about it." Gently. "And don’t give me that ‘it’s my fault the Commonwealth’ shit, Dylan. You weren’t a god. Just a battleship commander."

He couldn’t help smiling ruefully at that. "Point taken. Are you planning on sleeping in your clothes."

"Only if you are." Virtuous tone.

"I’m not that much of an ascetic." Harper was willing to let it go; he had to be content with that.

And Harper’s warm body against his own was pleasant enough to distract him.

  


* * *

Harper had never exactly been comfortable around the Than, and found he missed Rev’s style of translation, especially when the Than engineers were trying to talk to him about his designs.

He finally managed to escape the briefing with only a mild headache; it was really bigoted of him, but hell if he ever felt totally comfortable around anything insectile. 

"They’re really impressed," Trace said from behind him, startling him badly. 

"What? Oh, yeah. They think I’m nuts." He took in a breath. "Don’t sneak up on me, Trance."

She blinked at him. "I didn’t mean to. Are you in a bad mood?"

He rubbed his chin. "Trance, I know it’s a real social fox pass, but I really, really do not like being around anything with antennae that isn’t mechanical."

Trance studied him. "You _are_ in a bad mood. Are you still frustrated about that cannon thing? Because if you want to know what I think, I think it’s a good thing that you couldn’t figure out the shielding. That thing is way too dangerous."

He couldn’t decide whether to laugh or howl. "Yeah. Maybe. I mean, about being frustrated. Dylan won’t let me upload any more, and, dammit, he had Rommie hide the damn storage device."

Trance frowned a little. "But Harper, remember how badly it affected you when the Perseid--"

"Trance!" Damn, his temper was short, she gave him a wounded look. "Sorry, sorry. But look, Trance, I’m not gonna upload the whole thing, I just need to see if I can find what I need."

Long, solemn look. "Harper, weren’t you really mad at Dylan when he went off alone?"

He scowled at her. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"It means you’re trying, in a way, to do the same thing. Think about it." She patted his shoulder and went on her way.

It only made his headache worse.

There was a simple way to approach this, he decided, on his way back to his own quarters. He had to see what areas of the ship Rommie had protected from his view in her ‘net. Simple elimination. Except that on a ship this size, it wasn’t that simple, but it gave him a good reason to be absent from the little strategic get-together Dylan was having in about an hour.

He was an engineer, not a strategist, and he had some fine-tuning to do on his nanobot auto-defense. He’d struggled with how to do it, but Magog life signs were fairly unique, not unlike those belonging to Than, and just in case they got past his first few lines of defense in the hull, he wanted them to face another. "Loose the nanobots of gore," he muttered to himself, and picked up a few tools. 

He’d plug himself in, and see what he could see. Even if Trance had a point, it was still up to him to make sure that Rommie and Dylan and the rest--not excepting himself--were as safe as they could be under really shitty circumstances.

But since he wasn’t sure Dylan was going to see it the same way, he’d have to tell Dylan about it later. Besides, he was reasonably sure there was a saying about asking forgiveness being easier than asking permission.

He hoped Dylan agreed.

  


* * *

The Than were effusive about Harper’s modifications to Andromeda. And the briefing was going well, or as well as it could go, given their distinct lack of intelligence regarding the damned entity. During the first break, Dylan sought Beka where she was chatting with one of the Than pilots. "Where’s Harper?"

She was evidently wondering the same thing. "I don’t know." Frowning. "Let me ask Rommie." She nodded at the pilot and slipped out.

"Your engineer is quite talented," said the Than pilot pleasantly to Dylan. "Quite impressive."

"Yes, he is." He couldn’t help smiling at that. 

"I admit, I had expected someone older, more military in bearing." Faint sound of Than laughter, inviting him to share the joke of missed expectations.

"Harper is... unique." He smiled again. Harper was presently irritated with him, but once again they’d sidestepped a real argument. "And yes, I agree, very impressive."

Beka returned, touched his shoulder. "Please excuse us for just a moment," she told the Than and drew Dylan to one side. "Okay, something weird. Rommie says she doesn’t know where he is."

His stomach did a particularly nasty roll. "He’s not on the ship."

"I asked her that. She said he was." Beka’s expression was grim. "Dylan, somehow, he’s blocking her from giving his location away. The devious little bastard has--"

Dylan suspected he knew why, and it didn’t help his stomach. "Make my excuses, I’ll be back as soon as I can."

"Dylan!" Her eyebrows drew together. "What--"

"I think he’s trying to upload more data." He made his escape, at once furious and terrified. Damn all insubordinate, reckless engineers to hell, hadn’t he known Harper would try this? Hadn’t he expected that having Rommie hide it would be enough to protect Harper from those impulses? Even _he_ hadn’t known where it was, he’d told Rommie not to tell him. "Rommie, where is the data storage device?"

"Drone fighter hangar twelve," Rommie told him and her hologram took shape in front of him. "Harper’s done something, I know he’s on the ship, but I can’t tell you where." 

Her tone boded little good for Harper. "I’d say he’s in the hangar." Dryly. "Get Tyr for me, Rommie, have him meet me there. If Harper’s jammed the doors, I’m going to need some help."

Her expression shifted. "He has." Grimly. "Tyr’s on his way."

Which might or might not be a bad idea, but he was too alarmed to determine which. How long had Harper been in there? How long had Harper been lost in the virtual world of directories and information and precisely how much had Harper uploaded?

And if Harper had indeed determined how to shield the cannon--which was entirely possible, given Harper’s skills and intelligence--was it even ethical to use it? He supposed that went back to his sense that weapons should not allow for clean and consequenceless genocide.

Tyr already had the access panel open when he reached the hangar doors. "What is he doing?" A growl.

"Uploading more data." Dylan said it grimly. "Against my express order. Here, there’s an override." He pressed and the doors slid open. "Good, he didn’t jam them."

"He probably expected to be finished before you noticed." Tyr’s tone was dry. 

Harper was easy to find; he was stretched out flat on the floor with a folded blanket under his head. Instead of the usual, semi-blissful expression, his eyebrows were just slightly drawn together, as if what he found inside the virtual world of the storage device was less than pleasing.

"Something’s coming," Tyr said softly, drawing Dylan’s eye. "Can’t you feel it?"

"No." He touched Harper’s face. Disconnecting Harper was _not_ a good idea. But Trance had roused Harper on the med-deck without harm. "Harper, dammit, come on." Tapped Harper’s face sharply, without result.

"It’s coming." Tyr bent to slap the other side of Harper’s face, not gently. "Dammit, boy, wake up."

Harper twitched, but his eyes remained shut. 

The ship shuddered suddenly, alarmingly, and Rommie’s voice was strident. "Intruder alert, intruder alert!"

"Rommie!" Dylan rose, caught between two crises. "Who or what?"

"Magog, on the obs deck. At least fifty and more are appearing."

"Phase shift." Tyr slapped Harper again, rocking him. "Dammit, boy!"

Dylan’s heart thudded. "We can’t leave him like this and we can’t disconnect him." He was sorely tempted, however. 

Tyr growled.

He swore. "Andromeda, can you link to the storage device?"

"I _am_ linked, Dylan. I’m not sure, but I think Harper may be in my virtual ‘net, even though I can’t locate him."

Dammit, there went any hope of having Rommie dislodge Harper. "Stay here," he snarled, "Keep him alive." 

Tyr drew his weapon, slapped Harper backhanded again. "I swear to you, I’ll kill him myself." Snarled back.

The ship shuddered again, hard enough that he had to fight to keep his balance as he started for the hangar doors. "What’s the situation, Rommie?"

"The autodefenses are performing as planned, but some of the Than are injured. Beka and Trance have gotten them off the obs deck and is leading them to the hangar bay. Dylan, the Magog are using Jeger’s phase shift technology to get aboard."

He swore again, reached the hangar doors in time for them to close. And the controls were useless. "Rommie, dammit, open these doors?"

"I don’t have any control over them, Dylan." 

He heard a groan from behind him, whirled to see Tyr hauling Harper to his feet. Harper’s eyes were open and he was trying to unplug the lead from his port. He could be relieved later. "Harper," he barked. "Get these doors open!"

Harper nodded, winced, but Tyr steadied him; Harper plugged himself into the control panel and a moment later, the doors opened. "There ya go, boss." Hoarsely.

He gave Harper a narrow look, but there wasn’t time. He edged out into the corridor. "Report, Rommie."

"The Magog are suffering a high casualty rate." Business-like tone. "Injuries, but no casualties among the Than, and Beka and Trance are unhurt."

That was good news.

"Amazing what a difference the autodefenses make," Tyr muttered and took point. 

He shoved Harper forward. "Stay between us, you’re unarmed." 

Harper made no protest; he was glad to see that Harper’s sense of self-preservation wasn’t totally gone.

They made it up through two levels, heading for the hangar bay, and there weren’t any more sudden appearances of Magog.

"There are only twenty live Magog remaining on board," Rommie reported, "The rest are dead."

That should reassure him. It didn’t. "Any word from the Than ships?"

"None. And there have been no new incursions."

Tyr looked at him. "None?" he asked, incredulous.

"None," Rommie repeated.

He didn’t like that. Didn’t like it at all, but even berserker Magog could figure out when a situation was going downhill. Somehow, though, he didn’t think that was all there was to it. Harper was frighteningly quiet, his gaze distant. "All right, then. We head for the weapons lockers. Just to be on the safe side. Body armor for all of us, and Harper, you carry a set for Beka and for Trance."

Harper nodded. "Right."

Dylan looked at Tyr. "You were right."

Tyr grimaced. "I don’t think it’s over yet."

"Neither do I." 

Tyr nodded grimly, took the next corner first. 

Harper gave Dylan an unreadable look and went next, and then....

And then, as if the failure of its puppets had angered it, a dark, nearly shapeless mass appeared in the corridor ahead of Tyr, who promptly backed up, aimed and fired.

Without result.

Harper had frozen, eyes so wide that white showed around the pupils. Dylan pushed past him and Tyr was suddenly yanked forward, saved himself only by grabbing one of the handholds in the corridor. 

Dylan aimed his forcelance, fired, with as little effect and felt an unseen force tugging him closer to the damn thing. All Harper’s work gone to waste, he thought distantly and fired again, even as Tyr reached out to seize his arm, to keep him from... from whatever would happen if he fell into that shapeless darkness.

And Harper lacked both their weight and heft, Harper made a despairing sound and fell backwards, slid forward toward the thing.

It was like nothing he had felt, not gravity, not strong winds, but it pulled, pulled at them all. He got his hands on the handhold next to Tyr, freed one and just barely managed to catch Harper’s ankle as Harper went by. For reasons known only to Harper, Harper was still fumbling at his belt. "Harper," he barked, "Reach up, grab my wrist." Harper ignored this, and the force nearly pulled him from Dylan’s grasp. He tightened his fingers desperately, cruelly digging into flesh and bone, and Harper made another sound, finally got what it was he sought.

It was getting harder and harder to hold on. "Tyr!" Knowing it would do little good, it went against everything the Nietzschean believed, everything bred and trained into Tyr, but Tyr, astonishingly, reached out, caught Harper’s other ankle and then all hell broke loose....

Bright flash of light and a soundless roar of rage that made the universe around Dylan grey out. He held on desperately, held to Harper just as desperately and the light died and the force and pressure died and he all but fell to the floor of the corridor.

Harper lay too still.

"Where is it?" he gasped, looking at Tyr.

Tyr blinked. "In one of his traps, I would imagine." Hoarsely. "Get him up."

"Rommie?" 

The ship shuddered again and Rommie’s hologram appeared. "Dylan, there’s an... electromagnetic anomaly in machine shop fourteen." 

"Harper," Dylan patted Harper’s face. "Harper, dammit--"

"‘M good." Weakly, but Harper came up when Dylan did. "Where--"

"Machine shop fourteen." 

Harper looked at the device he held. Swallowed hard. "I don’t know if this will kill it."

The ship groaned. "Do it," Dylan said tightly. "Get it off my ship."

Another groan and then, god, the ship rocked badly, he grabbed a handhold with one hand and Harper’s upper arm with the other and, hell, his head thumped hard enough against the bulkhead to make the world grey out again.

Bright light again, actinic white, and he had to close his eyes tightly, still saw afterimages of Harper’s outline against his eyelids. The ship rocked again, shuddered and....

"Dylan, I’m detecting a supernova wave." Rommie’s tone was urgent. "And the Than ships are answering hails now."

"The command deck," Dylan grated and shoved Harper at Tyr. "We need to get the hell out of here. Rommie, alert the Than. Tell Beka to meet me on the command deck and we have to slipstream to get the hell out of the way of that damned wave."

"Understood."

He looked back briefly, saw Harper over Tyr’s shoulder. "Take him to med-deck. As soon as we’re out of here, I’ll get Trance down there."

Tyr was already moving; it let him go, taking every shortcut he knew to reach command deck. The wave was close, dammit, and getting closer, but the slipstream portal was closer. He let the Than go first, followed them through, feeling cold sweat on his palms.

Focus, focus, and he left slipstream to find the Than ships safely ahead of him, an entire quadrant away from the wave. He let go, leaned back in the seat and took a deep breath. "Rommie, any live Magog aboard?"

"Negative."

"Dylan!" Beka’s voice and he turned. "Thank--what the _hell_ happened?"

"I’m not entirely sure. Our guests?"

"Minor injuries, really." Beka leaned against the rail, catching her breath. "Is Harper okay? Where is he?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but Tyr’s face came on the viewscreen, his expression grim. "Dylan, I’d suggest you get Trance down here as quickly as possible."

Oh, god. Cold to the bone, he left the seat, went past Beka fast enough that she leapt back in surprise. "Rommie, did you get that?"

"She’s on her way."

There weren’t enough shortcuts to get there as quickly as he wanted, as he needed; Harper was on full life support when he arrived, and he was grateful for Tyr’s wide range of mercenary skills. Pale and still, with a breathing mask over his nose and mouth, Harper seemed... diminished.

There wasn’t any sign of a wound. "What’s wrong with him?" 

"I don’t know. No blood loss, no injury that the scanner can detect, nothing, and yet he’s dying." Despite the dispassionate tone, there was something in Tyr’s gaze that spoke of regret.

He couldn’t accept that, wouldn’t--he touched Harper’s face, rapped Harper’s cheek, but Harper didn’t stir. "That’s impossible. Dammit, Harper, wake up."

Tyr took hold of Dylan’s arm. "Don’t. It isn’t going to help."

"He’s not going to die." He snarled it. "Dammit, let go of me."

"You’re letting your emotions drive you. I thought you knew better than that."

He jerked his arm free just as Trance skidded into the med-deck. She took in the situation at a glance, shoved both of them aside in an unusually aggressive manner and took hold of both Harper’s hands.

"Come on back, Harper," she said softly, "You don’t have to stay there, it can’t hold you."

Dylan held his breath, felt an iron band of grief closing around his throat. Beka arrived and stopped short, watched Trance. 

Trance began to hum, something atonal and annoying, and then began to sing in a language he didn’t recognize. He started toward her, but Tyr and Beka both held him back.

"Wait," Beka said, and her eyes were too bright. "Let her work. She kept you alive this way."

Hope was as painful as grief; Harper lay limp, the monitor readings growing progressively worse, and he couldn’t _do_ anything, couldn’t find his voice to say anything. Until at last he could. "Dammit, Harper, don’t you dare do this!" Rough, thick voice, and he knew his eyes were wet, Beka leaned against him either for comfort or to comfort him.

The readings dipped, he closed his eyes and then Beka gasped. He opened them again, saw the indicators rising, steadying, and damned if Trance didn’t keep singing, more strongly now.

Harper twitched slightly, coughed into the mask.

Beka took in a shaky breath and her fingers loosened slightly. Tyr was watching, still dispassionate, but when Dylan looked at him, he nodded.

Thin whine, and that was Harper, and Trance brought her song to an end, removed the mask and patted Harper’s cheek. "Just lie there, Harper. You’re going to be fine." Happily.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kill her. He wanted to find out who and what the hell she was, but that could wait. For the moment, he contented himself with breaking free of Tyr and Beka and going to the side of the diagnostic bed. "You," he growled at Harper, and had to swallow hard. "You ever scare me like that again, I’ll make you scrub the decks with your toothbrush."

Harper coughed again. "Wha’ happened?" Blearily.

He allowed himself one touch, just one brief touch on Harper’s cheek. "I’m not entirely sure, but I think you saved the day again." A little dryly. "Well, except for the supernova, but I’m not sure that was your fault."

Harper’s eyes widened and he coughed again. "Supernova?"

"I don’t know, things were happening a little fast." He wished everyone on med-deck to hell, took it back mentally and briefly clasped one of Harper’s hands. "You listen to Trance. I need to get a situation report."

"Okay." Harper’s eyes were already closing. 

Dylan looked at the monitor, briefly panicked, but the indicators were steady. He looked at Trance, who beamed at him. "What," he began.

"It was a long trip back, he’s tired." Trance patted Harper’s ankle. "He’ll be fine, Dylan, I promise you."

Long trip back. He found he wasn’t up to considering that, nodded as if it made sense and rubbed his forehead. "All right, people, we need to find out what just happened."

Beka was at his side. "After you sit down." Firmly. 

He noticed that her sleeve was ripped. "Are you hurt?"

"Nope. I zigged in time." She studied his face. "Are you all right?"

"I’m fine. Not so much as a bruise." He glanced back at Harper, saw Trance carefully layering blankets over him. "Unless you count complete and utter terror." Dryly. "We had a visitor down our way."

Her eyebrows drew together. "The entity?"

"You guessed it." He shuddered suddenly. "Right. All right. We need to get data from Rommie, I need to know what happened, what caused that supernova and god, if any inhabited worlds got hit by the wave. And the Than--where are the Than?"

"They decided that their own medical practitioners were more suitable." Beka was dry. "Not that I blame them, although Trance did remarkably well last time she had a Than patient."

He rubbed his forehead. "Right." It was remarkably hard to think. 

Beka patted his arm. "Your office. We’ll nail the details down. Rommie?"

"Sending the data through. The Than have been in contact with their homeworld, warning them of the radiation danger of the wave, and are broadcasting warnings."

It was _really_ hard to think. He looked back at Harper, saw that Harper had shifted to lie on his side, the blankets pulled over most of his head. Darkness, entities, Magog using phase shift technology, and supernovas. His head ached. "My office," he said shortly, and started for it.

  


* * *

Sitting at his desk, Dylan rubbed his forehead, willing away the ache. According to Rommie’s report, a perfectly stable star had gone supernova without warning, without any sign that it should have. According to Rommie’s report, the supernova was impossibly huge given the size of the star before it had suddenly exploded. According to Rommie’s report, the electromagnetic anomaly in the machine shop had been held interphase. 

He had drones shooting dead Magog out an airlock, the Than convinced that Harper was a certified genius because the nanobots had worked quickly enough that there were no critical injuries from the Magog incursion, a supernova that shouldn’t have been, and he was beginning to suspect that Harper could make it rain if he so desired.

He was just glad Harper was alive.

A glass appeared in front of him, filled with two fingers of aged Scotch that was so rare, in this modern age, that he should have used it for trade and not for drinking. Instead, he nodded thanks at Beka and drank it.

Beka sat down across from him, slung her legs over the arms of her chair and sipped at her own. "Now you know why I keep him around." Crooked grin, but he could see the shadows in it. 

He made a noncommittal sound, took a swallow of the Scotch, welcomed the burn all the way down. "Rommie, how is Harper?"

Brief silence, and then, "Trance says he’s still asleep, but says to assure you that his vital signs are normal and that he’s fine." 

Was he imagining that Rommie’s tone was tart? He wasn’t sure. He sighed, rubbed the side of the glass over his forehead. "Well."

Beka nodded, lifted her glass in a silent toast. "I think he killed it."

He hoped to god so. "Maybe." 

She shrugged. "Even if he didn’t, at least we know that there’s a way to fight it. He’s probably dreaming of how to make his device more effective."

He set the glass down with a bang. "It nearly killed him!" Sharply. "This isn’t a game, dammit."

Straight look, steady look. "No, it isn’t. He risked his life, the same way you were going to risk yours, Dylan. Only he didn’t just hurl himself at it, he had the tools and he used them."

Stung, he stared at her. "What the _hell_ is that supposed to mean?"

She sighed, rubbed her eyes. "Sorry, that wasn’t fair. I don’t know what you’re complaining about, we came out of this one pretty damned well."

"I’m not complaining." He leaned back in his chair. Sighed. "All things considered, we did." 

Another crooked grin. "He just scared hell out of us, that’s all."

"Trance," he said and rubbed his face with both hands. "Never mind, maybe I don’t want to know. Maybe I’ve been listening to my damned nightmares too long."

"Damned uncomfortable, if you ask me." She took another sip. "Look, Dylan, what happened--it’s changed us all in ways. Well, except maybe Trance, who knows with her. But before this, you’ve had good hunches, I’m willing to roll with this one because it makes sense. Going off alone, that didn’t."

He picked up his glass again, took another swallow. "I have no idea what the hell you’re saying."

She laughed. "Neither do I. I’m totally wiped out."

He managed to smile, albeit ruefully. "So am I."

"So maybe we oughta both get some rest?" She grinned, tossed back her drink without so much as blinking, and got up. "I’m going to."

He should, he thought, but he was probably going to go down to med-deck to watch Harper breathe. He lifted his glass to her. "Sleep well."

A last grin and she was gone. He finished his drink, put it down and studied it for a moment. No, another drink would _not_ be a good idea, but watching Harper breathe was an excellent one.

Med-deck lighting was dim, and Trance, evidently, had felt Harper was safe enough with the med-drones. Standing beside the bed, Dylan doubted that, but Harper was definitely breathing. Leaning in, he brushed his mouth over Harper’s temple. Harper stirred, made a comfortable sound and turned his head. Well, who was he to deny that? He kissed Harper’s mouth lightly and one arm emerged from the blankets, went around his neck.

He smiled against Harper’s mouth. "You’re supposed to be sleeping."

"I was."

There wasn’t any arguing with that, so Dylan kissed Harper again. "I suppose you want to go back to sleep."

"Not here." Sleepy look. 

Right. He carefully disengaged. "All right, as, uh, the highest ranking officer in med-deck, I authorize your release from medical care."

Harper pushed himself upright, grinned. "Hey, you should do that more often."

"What, abuse my authority?" Dylan looked around, found Harper’s boots. "Don’t tempt me."

"Ah." Wise look. "Still pissed at me?"

"Not yet. I will be. Right now, I’m just savoring your good fortune." Dryly.

Harper blinked, puzzled it out and flushed. "Oh. Well. Thanks." He took his boots from Dylan, pulled them on and slid off the diagnostic bed. His knees wanted to fold and Dylan hauled him back up, steadied him. "Thanks." Blurrily. "Guess I’m a little woozy."

"Well, it was a long way to come back," Dylan muttered, "You’re probably just still tired." Harper gave him a perplexed look. "Never mind. Come on."

"Oh, yeah." Harper leaned against him a little before straightening.

The walk back to his quarters was a little slow, primarily because Harper insisted on making it under his own power, and going faster made Harper complain about being dizzy.

The only good thing about it was that focusing on one foot after another kept Harper from demanding answers Dylan wasn’t prepared to give or giving Dylan answers that he wasn’t prepared to hear.

The moment Harper reached the bed, he fell backwards, put an arm over his eyes. "Wow."

"Let that be a lesson, when I abuse my authority, nothing good comes of it." Dylan crouched, pulled Harper’s boots back off. "Satisfied?"

"Yup." Harper raised his head. "Just tired. Boy, am I tired."

Dylan bit his tongue the urge to say something about the long journey again. Rose and reached for Harper’s waistband, got him free of the cargo pants.

"You can undress me any time." A faint flicker of wickedness, but Dylan reckoned that the spirit was far more optimistic than it had any right to be. 

"Think of me as your medical officer," he told Harper. "It’s against medical ethics to fool around with a patient."

"That sucks." Harper pushed himself up again, at least long enough to get under the bedclothes. "So when do you stop being my medical officer?"

"When you stop needing one." Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Dylan took off his own boots. "And when I get some rest."

"Old man." Affectionately.

Dylan arched an eyebrow. "You know, I’d disprove that comment, but you aren’t up to it."

Harper pulled the blankets up to his chin. "Maybe not." Peaceably.

Feeling pretty affectionate himself, Dylan got himself out of his uniform and into bed, pulled Harper absurdly close. "The only reason I haven’t thrown you in the brig is that the wages of disobeying my order were obviously bad enough already."

"Don’t think I don’t appreciate it." Harper squirmed even closer. "Man, I had the _weirdest_ dream, too. I was watching a star explode from the inside out."

Dylan was abruptly chilled. A long way back, he thought and shivered. "Go to sleep."

"Okay." Contented tone. Sleepy voice. Warm and alive and very much solidly real.

For the moment, it was more than Dylan could have asked.

  


* * *

Harper woke suddenly, dreaming of heat and light and gravity and not really sure why. He was in one piece. His bladder was complaining, which explained why he’d awakened. There was also a nice, warm, solid body behind him, entirely comforting, even if Dylan had wrapped an arm around him a bit snugly and therefore tangled him in a cocoon of sheet and blanket. He wondered if Dylan’s arm was asleep, but it didn’t feel limp enough; squirming, he shifted to face Dylan, rubbed his beard stubble against Dylan’s throat.

Dylan made a disgruntled, growling sort of noise and loosened his hold a little. Not a lot.

So he licked Dylan’s throat.

Dylan woke with a start, took in a deep breath. "If you wake me up again, I’ll have to kill you."

"Yeah, right." He nuzzled again. "You afraid I’m going to sneak off and get into trouble again?"

"What? Oh, sorry." Dylan lifted his arm, tugged the bedclothes loose. "Well, maybe unconsciously, yeah." He flopped back onto his back.

"I’m just going to drain the lizard," Harper told him and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Stood up experimentally as a strangled sound emerged from behind him. Alarmed, he turned to look, saw Dylan was laughing nearly too hard to breathe. "Hey, it’s not _that_ funny."

Dylan waved at him vaguely.

Feeling a little disgruntled himself, he took care of necessities, came back out and scowled at Dylan, who was wiping his eyes. "It wasn’t that funny," he muttered.

"I thought it was." Dylan was revoltingly wide-awake for a man who’d been sound asleep less than ten minutes earlier. He patted the spot beside him. "Come here, I’ll make it up to you."

"I’m still tired," Harper said grumpily, but he got back into bed anyway. Got hugged rather nicely, and nuzzled even more nicely. "Okay, I accept your apology."

Dylan laughed into the back of Harper’s neck. "I wasn’t really apologizing, but if it works for you, go with it."

"Funny guy." But he let himself be held and oh, yeah, kissed. He found himself flat on his back with Dylan leaning over him in a friendly way. "What happened, anyway? Last thing I remember was getting that damn trigger out of my belt."

Nice friendly kiss, just the tip of Dylan’s tongue. "I have no idea. You got to the trigger and evidently set it off, and that’s about all I can say for sure. Or even for unsure. Well, except for the huge electromagnetic anomaly in the machine shed."

"Oh, the main trap." Harper sighed. "Yeah, now I remember, then I powered on the thing that was supposed to keep it from doing a phase shift and locked it into an in-between stage, and then dumped it that way into the nearest star."

Dylan stared at him. "You triggered a supernova."

Harper’s stomach did a nasty roll. "I what?"

"Well, it may have triggered it," Dylan amended. "At any rate, your device overshot, it wasn’t the nearest star either. Thank whatever god may still exist."

"A supernova?" He felt dizzy and scared and cold. "I--did--"

Dylan put a finger over his lips. "No, we all made it into slipstream before the wave reached us. And there were no inhabited worlds in range. Harper, until Rommie finishes analyzing the readings, we won’t know what caused it, but it could simply be that it caused the supernova by trying to escape the trap and phase shift."

It made sense. Sort of. But it didn’t explain his dreams. He closed his eyes, shivering, and Dylan just held on to him. "Okay," he finally managed, "I’m good, I am. But how did I end up on med-deck, anyway?"

"You, ah, were unconscious. Tyr carried you down there while I got us out of there." Dylan’s expression was somber. "I don’t know why, and I don’t know how, but you came close to dying, Harper. You pull that shit again and I swear, I’ll harry you even in hell."

That cracked him up, even as he was still shivering. Just another case of the shudders, but Dylan’s expression was worth preserving in his memory. "You couldn’t. You can’t be an upright High Guard captain and even get close to hell."

"I’ll have to remember that and rethink my priorities." Dryly, but Dylan stretched out beside him then, wrapped them both up in the bedclothes and put an arm around Harper’s middle.

He didn’t mind this time. The shudders finally ebbed and stopped and by that time he was sleepy again, Dylan’s scent and warmth and affection all around him.

Definitely worth preserving in his memory.

  


* * *

"Your device did not cause the supernova." Rommie’s voice was a little tart. "However, the entity may have done so in an attempt to break free."

Harper shuddered again. "That should make me feel better, but it doesn’t."

Dylan smiled grimly. "Now you know how I felt after my research."

"What _was_ it?"

"I don’t know. And I hope we never have to find out." Beka ruffled Harper’s hair. "Whatever it was, I hope it didn’t find supernovas to its liking."

"Amen to that," Dylan said. "Now we merely have to deal with the Magog."

"Merely." Harper shuddered, then brightened. "Hey, the autodefenses worked really well."

"They worked fabulously well," Beka said, heartfelt.

"You were brilliant, Harper." Trance beamed at him.

Yeah, yeah, Harper saved the world again, he thought, but he couldn’t help but feel pretty damn good about that. And not just because it was reassuring. 

Dylan sighed. "Entering slipstream. Rommie, suggest to the Than that they follow us in."

Harper swallowed hard, leaned against his console.

"It’s going to be a lot different this time," Beka said grimly, and then they were in slipstream.

Dylan was a damn good pilot. He might not feel it the way Beka did, but he was still damn good, Harper thought. He himself was competent, Beka was amazing, and Trance--well, that was better left unexamined.

And he was distracting himself, but that wasn’t good, he had to stay focused. Tyr, not far away, was standing at a weapons’ station, braced already for action. All he had to do was keep the ship in one piece and running smoothing, and make sure all systems were go, all systems worked to the nth degree of efficiency.

They left slipstream. "Bringing up viewscreen," Trance said.

And they were all stunned to silence. "By the Vedran--" Beka’s voice was hushed. "What happened?"

The web of worlds was... smashed. Harper stared, felt a chill snake up his spine.

"Radiation levels are dangerously high, Dylan." Rommie, dispassionate as always. 

Dylan got out of the pilot’s seat. "Rommie, what the hell happened here?"

"I can postulate, but I can’t say for certain. Insufficient data." Rommie’s expression was regretful. "Given the levels of radiation, it seems possible that our entity managed to break free of Harper’s interphase confinement, perhaps bringing a wave of radiation and stellar gases with it. Again, that’s merely theoretical, based on my readings."

Harper’s legs felt wobbly suddenly. "It broke free." He looked at Rommie.

She nodded. "Possibly. Although I’m detecting no anomalies here, so I can’t say if it was completely successful."

"What about the Magog?" Dylan was grim.

"No life signs detected." Primly.

Harper shuddered outright. He didn’t want them alive, he wanted them dead, so why was his stomach rolling like the artificial gravity had failed?

Dylan was silent a moment, studying the viewscreen, where ruined worlds hung silent against the backdrop of the stars. "Inform the Than, Rommie." Rough voice. "Scan the worlds, I want to be sure they just didn’t leave and destroy their dens behind them. And once we know that, we’ll get the hell out of here."

"Understood." 

Dylan turned around, and Harper shuddered again. Whatever Dylan had steeled himself to do, there was grim relief at not having had to do it. "We stay alert, people." 

Harper nodded.

"You think it’s a feint?" Tyr sounded only idly curious. 

"The truth? I don’t think so. But it doesn’t pay to make assumptions. Harper?" A frown directed his way.

He managed to lift a hand. "I’m good."

"You look a little pale," Tyr said dryly.

"He always looks pale," Beka retorted, but looked at him closely. "You okay?"

"I’m good!" He felt irritated suddenly, and perversely that chased away the shakes. "I’m fine!"

"Okay." Beka nodded at him. "Okay, you heard the man, people, we stay ready."

"Icy," Trance said happily.

"Cool," Harper corrected her and then, just like that, he was sure it was over. For real.

And hoped to god he was right.

  


* * *

"It’s good having Rev back." Harper’s voice was lazy.

Dylan stopped rubbing his hair dry and peered out from under the towel. He’d worried about Harper’s reaction to Rev, but as Harper said, Rev was Rev, not... not the Magog who had nearly killed them. "It is," he agreed, and let the towel fall to his shoulders. 

Under the care of his Wayist brethren, Rev had recovered. Perhaps not wholly, but enough to find acceptance in his heart of what he had learned in the Magog lairs. Dylan wondered if it had helped that the crew had gone en masse to see him on their return from the dead Magog worlds.

He only wished he could have assured Rev that the entity was destroyed. He suspected that it was, and certainly they’d had no further encounters with it. It might have survived, it might have retreated to heal whatever damage Harper had managed to inflict, or it might well be dead.

He hoped the latter was true. "I’m starting to worry about this predilection you have for bathtubs," he told Harper.

"This is the Emperor of bathtubs." Harper leaned against the rim, let his legs float out behind him. "This is a freaking pool."

Dylan grinned. He’d ordered shore leave in the most sybaritic place they could afford, and since the Than governments had, blessedly, coughed up more funds for the fledgling Commonwealth and provided a fair percentage of that for Andromeda and her crew, here they were at El Dorado drift in the swankest, most badly decorated hotel he’d seen in some time.

Perhaps it was just that everything was just a bit too sybaritic. He’d seen Altirin potentates with better taste than the hotel’s decorating staff, but there was no denying the comfort of either the huge tub or the bed, and besides, Harper ignored the tasteless and concentrated on the luxurious, and he was damned if he was going to spoil Harper’s fun by being a snob. "It’s a fine tub."

Dreamy smile. "It’s a spectacular tub."

He took the towel from his shoulders, wrapped it around his waist and went to crouch beside the tub. Leaned down to kiss the top of Harper’s decidedly wet head. "Well, I think the scenery inside the tub is more spectacular than the tub, but I admit to some bias."

Harper pulled his legs back under him and leaned up for a real kiss; hell if he could deny that, he put a hand around the nape of Harper’s neck and concentrated on luring Harper out of the hot water and into bed.

"Come on back in," Harper said into his mouth.

"Some things are more fun on dry land," he said back, and let his hand slide down wet skin. "Mmmm, if you get out, I’ll make it worth your while."

"Dinner’s not even here." Complaint.

But Harper kissed him again, all heat and wicked tongue, and all the blood pooled below his waist. "It will be soon." Coaxing a little. "I’ll get your robe."

"I don’t have a robe," Harper told him and sank back into the water.

"Yes, you do." He grinned. "Don’t look horrified, I didn’t get it at the hotel gift shop."

Harper blinked. "You got me a robe?" Uncertainly.

"I did." He leaned down again, took another brief kiss. He had been briefly tempted toward something that resembled one of Harper’s tropical print shirts, but Harper didn’t always dress vividly. A nice slate blue, soft brushed fabric, and he hoped to god Harper liked it. Nobody _needed_ a robe, but it was hard to determine what a suitable gift was for Harper, given that he had all the tools and devices of the Andromeda at his command.

Rising, he returned to the bedroom to get it, came back in to find Harper watching for him, his expression... peculiar. A little lost. "It’s not my birthday," Harper said and got out of the tub, grabbed a towel from the heated rack. 

"Since I don’t know where your birthday is, I can’t say that I knew that." He watched Harper dry himself, a little worried suddenly. 

"Beka made one up for me, I couldn’t tell you when mine was. Too long ago." Harper looked at the robe sidelong. 

Dylan hastily shook it out, held it invitingly.

Little nervous roll of Harper’s shoulders and then he shrugged into it, ran a hand down the front. "It’s soft." Very quietly. "I don’t have anything for you."

Ah, maybe that was it. "I seem to remember a certain manic engineer plotting a surprise birthday party and nearly giving me a heart attack," he said slyly. 

Harper looked down, tied the robe’s sash. "Well, we _knew_ what your birthday was, we asked Rommie."

"So? Consider this either a late or early birthday present." 

Harper’s smile was unexpectedly shy; Harper continued to stroke the fabric. "Thanks. It’s really nice."

It undid him completely. "Besides, you do have something for me." He tugged Harper into a hug, held on and rubbed his cheek over damp hair. 

The door chime sounded. He released Harper and grinned. "Dinner."

Harper grinned back. "Cool. I’m starving."

"You’re always starving." Dylan went back out, found his own robe and let the roboservice in. Covered dishes in plenty--he’d noticed Harper’s eating habits tended to be as energetic as the rest of Harper, and it was wise to be prepared. 

Harper emerged from the bathroom, still toweling his hair energetically, presumably to get it to stay upright. "Let’s eat in bed."

Dylan raised an eyebrow. "We haven’t _done_ anything out of bed today."

"Best kind of shore leave." A smirk.

He had to agree with that, even if it made his mouth quirk smugly. He rather thought he’d convinced Harper that this... this connection or relationship or whatever it was, that it wasn’t just a temporary-born of-crisis/trauma/depression-thing. So far, they were continuing to manage well on the public front, neither of them was prone to mooning about, and they’d even managed a few more command hierarchy arguments without fighting over it in private. Still, he thought he’d seen a bit of wariness, of... something he didn’t want to see, as if Harper were bracing himself.

He didn’t see that now. He watched anyway as Harper sat down cross-legged on the bed and smoothed the fabric of the robe over his knees. Oh, it had been a good choice after all; Harper was tactile, as he’d discovered to his pleasure, and clearly the brushed fabric had been a good idea. Pushing the cart toward the bed, he surrendered. "I’m only agreeing so I can take advantage of you later."

Harper grinned. "Yeah? Think you’re up to it?" 

"Why do you think I ordered so much food?" 

Dryly. But eating in bed was a good idea after all, he ended up with Harper in his lap feeding him slices of fruit and doing a terrible impression of the maitre’d in the hotel’s restaurant. Why he should find that so funny was presently beyond him, but Harper had a way of making him laugh again.

"And zhust a bit of zheez," Harper said and reached for a dish.

It was time to call a halt. Laughing, he fended Harper off. "You are _not_ feeding me."

Harper gave him a mock-soulful look. "But it’s fun!"

"The simple fact is you like getting me to open my mouth," Dylan told him slyly. "Trust me, you won’t have any trouble at all later."

Harper’s gaze went unfocussed. "Guh."

Laughing, Dylan tipped Harper off his lap, returned the favor with a plump astara berry. 

Harper snickered. "Getting even?"

"Something like that." Dylan licked the juice off Harper’s lips. "Or maybe just giving myself a good reason to do that."

Lambent smile. "You don’t need a reason to do that."

Ah, there was a comforting thought. So he did it again for good measure, then pushed himself back upright to start putting small portions of everything on a plate.

Harper sat up, peered at the plate suspiciously. "What is that?"

"It’s good," Dylan said quellingly, "You’ll like it. Have I steered you wrong yet?"

"Well, there _was_ that pepper thing," Harper told him.

"That was only because you ate it by itself." Dylan handed the plate to Harper. "Eat hearty, you’re going to need your strength."

"Guh," Harper said again, forgetting his objection to the appearance of several items long enough to taste each. "Okay, you were right."

"Have I steered you wrong yet?"

Harper’s eyes narrowed. "Well, there was that escape pod thing...."

He shut Harper’s mouth by the simple expedient of putting his mouth over it.

Harper smiled sunnily when released. "Never mind."

The comm next to the bed chimed. Dylan looked at it, wishing he could pretend it hadn’t. Someone, meaning Beka or Tyr, had gotten arrested, no doubt, and expected to be bailed out. He wondered if it were fair to make them wait until tomorrow.

Harper grinned at him, leaned over and hit the button. "Neh splikee commonzeit."

"Harper?" Beka’s face appeared onscreen. "What are you--never mind. I need to talk to Dylan."

Harper shook his head. "Nope. Barring a cosmic emergency, Dylan is incommunicado. If someone’s in detention, tough luck, this is my shore leave, too, and I plan to enjoy it."

Dylan felt his face heat and counted to twenty backward. It was absurd for him to feel embarrassment, Beka knew, he knew Beka knew, Harper knew Beka knew, and he was a damned idiot.

"Okay, fine, you explain to him then why I’m not back on board in two days."

" _You’re_ going AWOL? I thought I was the only one who did that?" Harper’s tone was interested.

"You remember Colin?" Beka, incredibly, giggled. "Tall, muscled and rich?"

"And incredibly stupid," Harper said, "Yeah, I remember."

"He is _not_ stupid, just because he didn’t have any interest in discussing nanotechnology with you." 

Unable to resist, Dylan shifted to see the viewscreen, just out of range where Beka could see him. Beka was looking highly annoyed.

"What about Tall, Rich and Inarticulate?" Harper asked and took another bite absently. Wrinkled his nose. "This I don’t like," he told Dylan and pointed.

Dylan grinned and nodded.

"Harper, try and pay attention," Beka said, sounding exasperated. "Colin’s invited me on a short cruise." Incredibly, she giggled _again_.

"How short?" Harper leaned forward. "What the _hell_ is he wearing? And you say _I_ have no fashion sense, Rebeka, nobody that tall should wear those kind of stripes."

"Harper!" She scowled at him. "Did I make any cracks about Dylan’s formal uniform at that thing for the Than?"

Dylan frowned. "What’s wrong with my formal uniform?" he muttered.

"That’s not Dylan’s fault, it’s the High Guard’s fault, so he can’t be blamed. Besides, you can’t deny his regular uniform is even better than your dominatrix black getup."

He was _not_ hearing this.

"There is that," Beka agreed. "Harper, I still want that vid."

"In. Your. Dreams." Harper snickered.

Vid? Vid? Dylan opened his mouth, closed it. Perhaps he really didn’t want to know.

"Anyway, back to the point, I’m going to be a few days late. Two, to be precise. Think you can keep him distracted and busy for those two days?"

"Probably. But I’ll probably just tell him where you are." Harper took another bite of something, Dylan couldn’t quite see what. "Wow, now _this_ is good."

"Okay, I’m leaving." Beka sounded exasperated again. "Try and stay out of trouble."

"Hey, I’m not going anywhere with Tall, Dark and Stu--Inarticulate."

"Shove it, Harper."

Harper snickered, closed the commlink. "She’s going to be late," he told Dylan unnecessarily.

"I heard." Dryly. "What’s wrong with my formal uniform?"

"It makes you look like a lounge singer in a really cheesy lounge," Harper said and leaned back against the headboard. "White and gold, whose idea was that?"

"One of the Imperial designers," Dylan said, surrendered. He settled beside Harper with his own plate. "And what was that about the vid?"

Harper snickered again. "She wants one."

Dylan looked at him sidelong. "Of what?" Although he had a feeling he knew.

Harper gestured, including both of them. "Of us doing the screaming weasel."

Dylan nearly choked. "The. Screaming. Weasel?"

Wicked grin. "Not romantic enough? The naked pretzel? The--"

This time he used his hand. "Stop. Now."

Harper licked his palm. 

"There will be no vid," Dylan said firmly and released him.

"That’s what I told her." Brief glance away. "Honest."

"I believe you." He kissed Harper. "Of course, that means I have to put away my darkest fantasy."

"You? You have a dark fantasy?" Harper hooted.

"It includes a gag." Darkly.

Unfazed, Harper rubbed his foot against the side of Dylan’s calf. "Wouldn’t you miss my, um, vocalizations?"

"Your larynx will still work." But he kissed Harper again.

Somehow, Harper’s plate vanished. And then his vanished. And then he had a lapful and armsful of Harper again. "This is just for me," Harper muttered into his throat, "She’ll have to use her imagination."

Mercurial, mercurial. He was never certain what would punch the button that made Harper serious or sad or... whatever Harper was feeling. He put one hand on the back of Harper’s head, ruffled soft, damp hair, wrapped the other arm around Harper’s waist. "And for me." Softly.

"Mmmhmmm."

They sat like that for several minutes, and then Harper raised his head, grinned cockily. "So, you wanna pretend that I’m distracting you for the extra two days?"

Two extra days. Not so much time considering the last year, not so much time considering the last months. "I think I can do a reasonably good impression of a distracted man," he allowed.

Harper brightened. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Harper’s fingers were delicate on his cheekbones. "Definitely."

"Just for us," Harper said dreamily and kissed him.

Oh, yes. He could definitely give an impression of distraction. And the best part was that it wasn’t pretense at all.

***THE END***


End file.
